#brain fog barely let me write this

[blorboselfshipping]

Stolen Moments

Feel really bad about yesterday, I can barely focus on what I need to do, so I slacked off and wrote this instead.

Outside the window, the wind ripples through the leaves, the branches waving in a dramatic dance. It serves to distract Rose for a few minutes, but after the pattern becomes hypnotic, she can’t stop her thoughts from turning back to what sent her into a spiral in the first place. She shudders and wraps Logan’s jacket around her tighter. 

From her place in the window seat, she leans her head against the glass and dully gazes out, trying to tune out her thoughts once more. 

Half an hour, maybe an hour passes, she can’t tell. Time goes so slow and so fast when she feels like this. But eventually, there’s a knock on her door. She doesn’t move.

Another knock, this time with a voice calling out.

“Rose? I know you’re home, babe, can I come in?” 

Her eyes flick backwards, but just return to the view before her without an answer. Even through the wood, she can hear Logan's sigh.

“I just... want to know if you’re ok. If you need space, that’s ok too. I get it. But I’m gonna be right here, if you need me.”

A tiny blip of emotion sparks in her chest, through the fog. It’s enough to get her up on her feet and to the door. She turns the knob just in time, just as Logan pulls his hand back. She keeps her head down, her gaze focused on that broad, strong hand, reminding herself just how gentle they can be. One night, she’d peppered kisses on his knuckles, one for every memory that had been plaguing Logan in the dark. If she could be there for him, she could trust he would do the same.

So she lets her gaze travel up to his face. 

Anyone who knows Logan, who’s worked with him, who’s fought with him, would say they rarely saw him with such a soft expression. But it’s more than that. Even as the corners of his eyes soften, looking back at her, there’s a sad understanding in his blue eyes. A look that says I know you’re hurting and don’t know what to do about it. A look that says You’re not alone and I’ll help if you let me. 

Eyes locked on each other, Rose feels something shake loose in her chest and her jaw twitches against the release. She steps back to let him in. He follows her through, quiet for a moment. 

“Can you talk about it?” Not, do you want to talk about it? He was asking her if she could. She shakes her head, wraps her arms around herself, and stares at the carpet.

Logan has many sighs to express himself. He sighs when he’s bored, sighs when he’s tired of someone’s shit, sighs when he’s content. This sigh is short and quiet; a sigh of understanding.

“Come on, then.” He takes her hand, gently pulling her along. Rose resists for a moment, confusion furrowing her brows. Logan glances back, his blue eyes still so comforting. “Doesn’t do you any good to be cooped up in here, alone with your thoughts. Let’s go for a ride. It’ll help. Trust me.”

If he does, she can.

Her feet slip into their shoes by the door and she trails behind him. Logan doesn’t let her lag behind for long and falls back to lay a protective arm around her waist. Rose squeezes her eyes shut against the sudden wave of emotion his simple touch drags to the surface of the dark ocean in her chest. It feels like too much and like she’s still starving for more at the same time. 

The hallways are blissfully clear all the way to the garage. By the open bay doors, two helmets already hang from each handle of Logan’s midnight blue bike, ready to go. Rose’s green eyes flash to Logan briefly, suspicious and questioning. Logan only gives a small grin, shrugging.

“I always want you with me for a ride, darlin’. Guess we both needed to get away.” Her eyes soften and she lets her own smile creep across her face. Logan clips his helmet on, passing hers over, and settles into the low seat. While Logan’s dense body makes the bike sink a good few inches, Rose barely shifts the frame as she slides on behind him. She lets her body fully relax against his broad back, soaking up his body heat and the scent of his cologne. 

A turn of the key, a quick gun of the throttle, and they’re off down the drive. Rose grips Logan at the waist at the first acceleration, burying her face into his shoulder as they pick up speed. The mansion melts away and soon they’re on the open road, gray asphalt and faded white lines whipping by underneath them. 

Rose doesn’t bother to pay attention to where they’re going. She claws her consciousness back into her body, taking in all the sensations around her to try and ground herself again. Logan’s shirt is soft against her cheek, his scent fills her nose, the muscles under her hands expand and contract around his ribcage with each deep breath. She can’t help but twist her hands tighter into the fabric, like she’ll fall away, fall back into the pit in her mind if she doesn’t hold on. 

Logan says nothing against it, only releases one handle to stroke her hands soothingly against his side. She finds her breath and tries to take note of sensations beyond Logan. The vibration of the bike beneath her thighs, the guttural roar of the engine mixing with the howl of the wind around them, the warmth of his leather jacket that surrounds her.

Finally, finally, she peeks up and they’re so far from the mansion, so far from the city, they’re surrounded by forests. Sunlight burns through the trees, golden afternoon light cut by purple shadows cast from the thick trunks. It reminds her of a camera shutter, clicking back and forth to catch a moment in time. Time stops being too slow, stops going too fast, it’s only this moment here with Logan, playing over and over again. For as long as she wants, for as long as he wants, just the two of them frozen in time but also stretching endless forever. She feels her mind come crashing back in but it doesn’t hurt anymore. Like the leaves that shake loose from the branches in the wind, her thoughts go flying off, unable to keep up with this moment. This moment here with Logan, the one he gives her like a gift, a stolen, shared memory, for only the two of them. 

With a final shudder, Rose burrows her nose into the crook of his neck and lets the thoughts all go. Even if it all came crashing down again tomorrow, she has this. She has Logan and this precious moment he’s given her, to hold forever. This must be how it feels for him to get out, unlimited freedom and no end in sight. She understands why he craves it so much and it makes her want to cry, to get to feel it with him. He wants her to have this, wants to connect this feeling with her, to share one of his few happy memories with her. 

Out of the black depths, she feels the waves calm and lets his love hold her up, up against the beautiful blue sky above them, the same color as his eyes. Peace like this is hard won and she plans to stay in it as long as possible. Against the sensitive skin of his neck, she whispers how much this, how much he means to her.

She doesn’t have to see his face to know he hears her. She only needs his fingers entwined with her own to know he’s saying it back. 

[valerie-is-in-the-cupboard]

Shall we dance? - Viktor x reader

Hi there! With the second season of Arcane on the horizon, I’m excited to start writing for some of its characters. I hope you enjoy this one! ❤️

Words: ~1500 TW: none

"Can you dance?"

Your voice echoed in the lab, making Viktor look up at you with a confused look. He would lie if he said he didn't expect you to say something. Not when you stared at him in the past thirty minutes, your eyebrows slightly furrowed just like they do when something was on your mind.

"Pardon?" he said, his eyes scanning your face. He did hear your question very clearly, but he hoped that maybe you would let it go, feeling too exhausted to deal with you right now.

He never understood why Jayce wanted an assistant. He never asked you to do anything anyway. You just stood there with them, sometimes doing some of his paperwork. But today was one of those days he found himself alone with you, as Jayce was at yet another meeting.

"Can you dance?" you repeated, this time slower, making sure every word got to him.

His expression was unamused, and he looked about as tired as ever: dark circles under his eyes, messy hair from him likely running his hand through it in frustration, and the way he was slumped in his chair like he was about ready to pass out at any moment.

“I don’t dance.” He said dully.

"I didn't ask that. I asked if you could do it," you said, gesturing at his leg.

“No, I can’t.” He said in a tone that clearly told you to drop the subject. You just stood there silent for a moment, your eyes still fixed on his leg. He sighed, relieved that maybe now he could continue his work in silence.

"Have you tried?"

Dammit.

“What part of ‘no I can’t’ are you not understanding?” he snapped, “Why are you fixating on my leg?

"Have. You. Tried?" you ask again, your tone more persistent.

“Of course, I’ve tried.” He said with an obvious annoyance in his voice. He didn’t enjoy talking about this subject. “How exactly do you expect me to dance if I can barely walk in the first place?” he huffed, waving a dismissive hand at his own leg.

You lean back, your eyes scanning him once again. He knew that face - the sign that those little wires in your head are connecting, another light bulb glowing brightly.

"Have you ever danced with anyone?" He placed the pen on the table, a bit harsher than he would've wanted. His eyes locked with yours, not sure what answer you would like to hear from him. "I mean... it's easier to dance with someone than alone."

“No, I haven’t danced with anyone. It’s rather difficult to find someone who wants to dance with someone who can barely stand up without a cane."

"I would."

He was stunned for a moment, his eyes widening at your answer. “You-... Why?” What possible reason would compel you to want to dance with him of all people? You didn’t even like him or at least you acted like this.

"Because I think you might enjoy it," you said, getting up and walking to the phonograph Jayce brought in the lab at some point. His eyes followed you around, a confused look on his face as you looked at some vinyls, trying to pick one.

He turned back to his work as if that would make you disappear... forever, preferably. Your steps approaching him made his heart skip a beat, his brain fogging as your warm hand briefly touched his, snatching the pen he was holding.

"Up," you commanded him, met with a groan of annoyance.

"I'm not getting up," he said as you tugged on his hand slightly. "I have work to do."

"You worked enough."

He hated how fast you answered him like you already knew every word he was going to say.

He sighed as he raised himself from the chair, leaning against the desk as he looked down at you. "Are you happy?"

"Very much so." you smiled, his face slightly heating up at the sight. You placed his other hand on your waist, as you grabbed his shoulder tightly. "Lean onto me," you said and pulled him closer, feeling a bit taken aback by the fact that he was heavier than he looked. "I got you."

He let out a scoff but begrudgingly followed your instructions. “This is stupid…” he mumbled as he leaned closer.

"Well, it is with this attitude of yours! Try to be more positive about it!" you encouraged. "Now, we'll start with the right one, alright?"

He gave you an annoyed look as you continued being overly chipper. He hated how much you were enjoying this. “Right… and how exactly do you expect me to move my right leg without my cane?” he grumbled, waving towards his cane sitting on the desk. You looked at him for a moment, the same look from earlier appearing on your face, as you realised you've mistaken his healthy leg.

"Just... Just lean on me, alright? Pretend I'm your cane."

He stood there for a moment, hesitant. It wasn't that he didn't trust you could hold him as you proved yourself to be more than capable of supporting his weight. He felt vulnerable. He didn't really like depending on someone else, so now, having to trust you completely was a bit overwhelming. You looked up at him, a bit worried at his sudden stiffness. "Hey... If you want to stop..."

“No…” he said, a bit too quickly than he intended. It was obvious that he was trying to avoid your gaze. He took in a sharp breath through his nose, his hand on your waist tightening slightly. He could feel his heart thump in his chest as he looked down at his feet, refusing to meet your eyes. “Let’s keep going…” he finally mumbled after a moment.

You smiled at his words. "Just follow my lead."

With slow steps, he mirrored you, as the music echoed in the lab. Your hands were firm against him, making sure you were not letting him fall, your eyes scanning his body for every sign that he might want to stop. But he didn't.

He didn't want to stop. The more he moved, the more the tension in his shoulders began to ease up.

He hated to admit it, but you were right. It was easier to move with a partner. And having you hold onto him, making sure he could follow your steps… it was something akin to freedom. He didn’t have to worry about keeping himself from collapsing because you wouldn’t let him fall.

That feeling scared him as much as fascinated him.

"See?" you said. "I knew you could dance." you encouraged him, a wide smile on your face.

You looked up to notice a small smile on his lips, a hint of pride in his eyes as he heard your praise.

“Don’t get a big head about it.” he mumbled, “This is still stupid...”

You chuckled as you swayed around the desk. "But you like it," you said, your voice a bit lower.

Oh, how much he wanted to argue with you. "No, I don’t. It’s stupid. It’s pointless." But the way his heartbeat in his chest made it difficult to focus. And he hated how he didn’t want you to let go anytime soon.

"You are such a pain in the ass sometimes, you knew that?" you chuckled, as you moved your eyes back to the ground, making sure you don't step on his legs.

“I could say the same thing about you.” He let out a quiet wince of pain as his leg twitched. It seemed his body was reminding him that he was, in fact, not made to dance, as much as he hated to admit it. “Okay, yes, I’ve had enough.” he said through gritted teeth, “My leg is protesting…”

You slowly helped him sit back in his chair, your hand lingering for just a few moments on his shoulder again. "Hurts too much?" you asked, a hint of worry on your face.

"Ah, it's nothing really..." he said, already used to the pain he was supposed to endure more often than he liked to admit. A feeling of guilt passed through you, thinking that maybe you shouldn't have insisted.

"I'm sorry..." you said, as you leaned against the desk. "I just wanted to help you relax a bit, that's all..."

He looked up at you, his hand slightly squeezing your arm in reassurance. “You don’t have to apologize. You were right. That was…” He hesitated for a moment on his next words. “…That was nice…” he finally whispered.

A smile appeared on your face at his words. "Next time we'll paint. Maybe this activity will be less... dangerous."

“Paint? Really?” he raised an eyebrow questioningly. “That’s the next one on your list of things to do to get me to relax?”

You wanted to talk, but as you looked at the clock on your wrist, your eyes widening slightly as you realised you were late for a meeting. Quickly you made your way to the door. "Well... I have some other things in plan..." you smirked as you leaned against the door. "But we'll take it slow," you left him alone in the lab, a faint blush on his cheeks.

He sat there completely dumbfounded, staring at the door for who knows how long, intrigued by your words.

Suddenly, the idea of Jayce having an assistant didn't sound so bad anymore...

[sonofarathorn]

dog tags [l.h]

Pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader Word Count: 800 words Warnings: Smut (18+). Unprotected Sex. Little dialogue. A/N: Here's a little drabble I've been thinking about since I saw Deadpool & Wolverine. It's my first attempt at writing in like a whole year. Please go easy on me. Dedicated to @eupheme for inspiring me to write again.

You love these moments, so few and far between. When the world melts away, and it’s just you and Logan. Sharing space. Sharing love. 

That gentle, sinful dance. The slick slide of skin. Dewey breaths and twin moans. The quiet squeak of the bed frame, keeping time with Logan’s deep thrusts. 

He’s wrapped himself completely around you, pressing his entire weight onto your body. It’s like he’s trying to burrow his way into you. Leave the imprint of himself upon your very soul. You’re trapped between the soft mattress and his solid body, completely vulnerable to him. As he is to you. Baring his soul before you. Letting you take what you want as he willingly offers you everything he has. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Logan groans into your ear. His teeth brush the shell, sending shivers down your spine. 

You thread your fingers in the damp hair at the nape of his neck. Tugging those strands when he thrusts deeper, finding that mind-numbing spot. “Feel so good, baby.” 

He shudders at the praise. Shoulders tightening in determination. To make you feel good. To unravel you.

Logan’s nose bumps yours clumsily as he presses a sloppy kiss to your lips. Filthy and sweet. His tongue slides into your open mouth, greedily tasting the saccharine moans that leave your throat. He fills you with his own pleasured noises. Deep and tangy. Bourbon and honey. Aged to perfection for a special occasion as this. 

Your hands slide the length of his broad shoulders, tangling in the metal chain that dangles from his neck. You pull him impossibly closer, fusing your bodies. He surges over you like a wave, pulling you deeper and deeper into the riptide of your pleasure. 

Logan hitches your leg around his hips and swallows your cry of his name. When your head tips back, overwhelmed by the heady sensation building within you, he watches. Watches the slack of your jaw, your kiss-swollen lips forming the letters of silent pleas. Watches the furrow of your brow, that flash of desperation in your eyes. 

Logan brushes his thumb over the swell of your lips. Your teeth catch the pad of it, tongue swirling out to soothe the sting. 

He groans, half-lidded eyes drooping more. The languid rock of his hips jerking for a moment. That knot in his stomach threatening to come loose. But he knows you're close to that edge. Can hear it in those sweet high-pitched moans, feel it in the needy undulations of your hips as you seek release. He won’t come yet, not without you. 

Logan draws his thumb from your mouth and fits it into the space where your bodies meet. You gasp at the slick pressure against your clit. The expert circles he presses pushing you further, driving you higher.  His free hand grabs yours, pressing your palm into the pillow. 

The sweet gesture, the connection adds to the intensity of the feelings swirling around you. For the longest time sex with Logan was primal, desire-based. The only goal was getting to the end, that blissful orgasm. Not that you minded, you had needs to. But lately…well things had changed. Tender touches replaced bruising force. Fiery, biting kisses turned languid. Still intense, just different.

“Gonna make me cum, Logan,” you whisper, eyes still locked on his. “‘M close.”

“I know,” he says. 

The thumb on your clit picks up speed and the heat in your belly grows. Logan crowds your space, bending you nearly in half. The movement has his dog tags dangling in your face, bumping against your chin with every forward thrust. 

A wicked thought fills your head. The desire fogging your brain. On his next forward push, you suck the tags into your mouth. The effect is two-fold. The cool metal on your tongue tastes of sweat. It keeps your mouth busy and forces Logan to remain close. 

You can feel his breath on your face, hear that warped groan, for a split second before he’s kissing you. Cool metal mixing with the uninhibited warmth of desire.  

It pushes you over the edge. You come with a choke groan, and Logan’s not far behind you. He kisses your chin, forehead falling against yours as he empties himself inside you. 

The afterglow has always been your favorite. Your body limp and floating through the syrupy sensation of pleasure. Senses dialed up to ten as you slowly come down. Logan lies limp on top of you, fighting to regain control of his breathing. He’ll never admit this, but he’s a cuddler. Seeking that warmth, the connection that’s eluded him for so long. Softness he’s never allowed himself to have. Softness he doesn’t think he deserves. 

You were the first to offer it to him in such a long time, and he’s long since stopped running from it. Maybe that’s why he keeps coming back. Giving you little pieces of himself each time.

[ohsc]

₊˚⊹♡ assistance | sam winchester x reader

a/n - not for kinktober just a fic i wanted to get out!! i’m unsure whether i like the dialogue on this im sorry if it sucks i feel i can never write dirty talk right *sobs* but i really hope you enjoy!!! <3

cws - fem!reader, 2k, nsfw 18+, phone sex, mutual masturbation, kind of softdom!sam, long distance, fluff, comfort, kinda unedited

other fics can be found on my masterlist

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

It was later than he’d liked by the time he finally got back to the motel. With muscles that ached from the day’s strain, brain fogged from how tired he was, Sam honestly just wanted to call his girlfriend and talk to her until he fell asleep.

He’d meant to text her a couple of hours prior to let her know the hunt was dragging on longer than expected, but his phone had fucking died when he and Dean were two hours into their trek into the woods to find the pack of werewolves they were hunting, and he’d been pretty miserable ever since.

Dean had disappeared off to the nearest bar after dropping Sam off at their room so he thankfully had the place to himself to mope around as he plugged his phone into the charger and showered whilst he waited for it to get some power. The shitty water pressure and barely lukewarm water did nothing for his aching back, so he was even more agitated by the time he got himself settled onto the uncomfortable mattress twenty minutes later, hair wet and skin still damp beneath his clothes with his eagerness to call her.

As much as he hated being away from her for so long, and too often, it was the safest thing to do. Sam wouldn't be able to forgive himself if something happened to her because she was too close to his shit. He still had dreams about Jess, about how that was all his fault. He couldn’t let it happen again.

His phone hadn’t even reached twenty percent but he was impatient and shuffled over to the edge of the bed so the phone cord would reach and held the phone to his ear as he called her, propped himself up against the headboard.

The phone didn’t even ring twice before she answered.

“Sam?”

“Hey, baby.” The words came out in an exhale, most of the tension left him just at the sound of her voice, the ache seeping out of his bones like a relief. It was what kept him sane whenever he was away. Her picture in his wallet, her hair tie on his wrist, her voice in his ear.

“Hi, Sammy. Got worried when you didn’t call on time.”

He winced at the thought. She worried for him, of course she did. Sam understood how horrible it must have felt for her, knowing what he was going off to do. He could only imagine the dread that must’ve curled inside of her whenever he was late calling. Too many things had happened in the past, too many things could still go wrong.

“Sorry, my phone died when we were still out, didn’t get back until way later than I thought,” he groaned, sank down the headboard a little to stretch out on the bed. The agitation still hadn’t quite left him, the stiffness in his muscles prominent. He wanted nothing more than to curl up with her in his arms and he couldn’t have it. “Miss you, honey.”

He could hear the smile in her voice as she responded, “Missed you more. Wish you were here, it’s cold at night without you in bed too.”

He snorted a quiet laugh. “That’s why you miss me?”

“Mhm,” she giggled, though her voice turned a little coy as she murmured, “among other reasons.”

“Yeah?” An automatic smile was curling at his mouth.

Another little giggle through the receiver. He didn’t even need to see her to know that she had that little bashful smile on her face. He also knew exactly what was on her mind, it was on his too.

It wasn’t the first time they’d have done this. He was on the road so often that their sex life wasn’t as amazing as it could have been, and it wasn’t like he didn’t pleasure himself when he was away on hunts anyways.

There had been many many evenings he’d spent in the shower, hot water rolling down his back as he had one hand pressed to the tiled wall whilst the other pumped his cock until his cum was washed down the drain along with his shampoo bubbles. It wasn’t ideal — bottom lip tucked between his teeth to stifle the heaving breaths and quiet groans, trying to get off as fast as he could before the hot water could run out or Dean could get back to the room. It was even worse when it became a result of having her on the phone. There had been many occasions where her soft voice and giggles in his ear had been enough to get him hard, on nights when he was really missing her and it had just been too long since he’d kissed her.

It turned out she did the same as him. Though when Sam pictured it, it was a lot more graceful than his time in the shower. Laid out all pretty on their bed, legs spread, fingers wet with her own arousal as her head tipped back against the pillows. Sometimes if he got a little selfish he pictured her voice all whimpery saying his name as she came, but he couldn’t get lost in that daydream often, or he’d get hard over that, too.

“Miss you,” she breathed again, and the shift in her tone was palpable. “I… I tried touching myself earlier but I couldn’t cum without you on the phone.”

The groan that left him was automatic and his cock throbbed, hardening beneath the material of his boxers. The idea that she couldn’t even get off without his voice in her ear did wonders for him, it was a wonder his ego wasn’t too big already.

“You need my help, honey?” He crooned into the phone, settled into the tone of voice he knew she liked to hear, the voice he used more often than not when he was whispering in her ear, hips slotted between her thighs, rolling in a rhythm that left her whiney and panting.

Her soft little “mhm” was enough for him to move his other hand down and palm himself, hissing in a breath through his teeth.

“Go ahead and lay down for me, pretty girl. Wanna tell me what you’re wearing?”

There was the rustling of sheets over the phone before her voice spoke up again, “Just one of your shirts.”

Another groan. “You trying to kill me, baby?”

She giggled and his cock twitched beneath his palm. Jesus Christ he needed to get back to her, he needed her in person, to sate the need that wouldn’t be doused thoroughly enough over the phone.

“Go ahead and spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” he breathed, palming his cock again as he spoke, eyes squeezing shut as his head knocked back against the headboard. “Did you get yourself all worked up earlier, hm? Are you all soaked already?”

There was another hum, though he could hear the way her breathing had deepened, deep and heavy in his ear. He could picture the tickle of her breath on his face, the shape of her lips, the taste of her mouth after she’d just brushed her teeth. He needed her.

“Why don’t you start touching yourself for me?” He murmured, voice low with his arousal. Her resounding moan was enough for his cock to throb again and his hand finally dipped beneath his waistband, freeing himself with a quiet groan.

“Are you touching yourself too?” She whimpered, and it was a miracle he didn’t just cum there and then.

“Yeah,” his hand lifted and he tipped his head down to spit into his palm, groaning softly the next time he pumped his cock. “Yeah I am, dolly. Your pretty voice got me all worked up— fuck.” He breathed out the word between his teeth. He was already leaking pre-cum, thumbing over the head of his cock in a move that made him shudder, though it felt nice when she did it. Stroked his cock with her pretty hands, her pretty lips that wrapped around his head when she was on her knees for him, licking along the length of his dick in a way that always made him weak in the knees.

She moaned again and his hips jerked, rutting into his hand with a filthy groan. “How’re you feeling, honey?”

She whimpered, and Sam felt another dribble of pre-cum slide down the length of his cock. “Good— mm, good, j’st—” she took in a shaky breath, “feels better when it’s you, baby.”

“Oh yeah?” He grunted, pumping his cock just a little faster. “Why’s that, dolly?”

“Bigger hands,” she breathed. “longer fingers.”

Sam moaned, the idea of his fingers nestled deep in her wet heat enough for his cock to throb in his hand, and he knew he wouldn’t last long. But from the sounds of her pretty little whimpers, neither would she. “Can’t fill that pretty pussy up as nice as I can, hm?” He took in a shuddering breath. “Play with your clit for me, sweetheart.”

He could hear the moment she did, the sharp inhale, the whimpery moan, the rustling of the sheets as she, undoubtedly, spread her legs wider. “Oh god, Sammy—”

“Are you close, sweetheart?”

All he got in response was a high-pitched “uh-huh.”

“That’s it— shit, that’s it, baby,” he panted, pumping his cock faster, moaning softly as his head arched back. “Go on, dolly, make some pretty sounds for me as you cum, won’t you? M’gonna cum just thinking about you making such a mess of yourself, c’mon, baby—” he was practically begging between sharp breaths.

It only took a moment before he heard her sharp inhale and the whine that followed, and all it took was a few more quick ruts into his hand and the sounds of her before he groaned her name, toes curled and eyelids scrunched as he came. He could feel the evidence of his orgasm dribbling down his cock and his fingers as he shucked a few more times, hissing through his teeth as he finally stopped.

“Oh sweetheart,” he breathed, panting, not unlike her heavy breaths into the phone. “You sounded so fucking pretty, honey. That feel good for you?”

She took a shuddery breath and hummed again. “Yeah, thanks baby.”

Sam couldn’t help the breathy chuckle. “Don’t need to thank me,” he murmured. “M’always gonna take care of my girl, even if I’m not there. You made quite a mess of me, too.”

She breathed a laugh, and a moment passed of just their shared breathing as they both calmed down. Sam’s cock had softened completely against his abdomen, and he’d have to change his clothes and have another shower, but fuck was it worth it.

“I’ll be on my way back to you tomorrow,” he promised once his breathing had mostly evened out. “Should be with you before dinner, then you get me all to yourself.”

She yawned into the phone before mumbling, “Good, want you back to me as soon as possible.”

The sound of her so sleepy just left him so soft. “I promise I will be,” he breathed. “Why don’t you get some sleep, okay honey? I’ll call you in the morning when we’re on the road.”

“Okay,” her voice had completely softened, coated in a sickly-sweet fondness that left him putty in her hands. “I love you. Get back to me safe, okay?”

“I always do,” Sam smiled. “I love you too. Night, gorgeous.”

She yawned her own goodbye before the line went dead, and he let the phone drop back down onto the mattress with a heavy breath.

Just one more day, then he could have her in person, help her in all the ways he wanted to on the phone.

[holybibly]

ℑ𝔗'𝔖 𝔜𝔒𝔘 |𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔰𝔞𝔫 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯| 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑ

♡ Pairing: Best friends Woosan x reader ♡ Genre: smut, f2l!au, college!au ♡ Word Count: 6.6k ♡ Summary: Sometimes drunken decisions lead to the most unexpected results and the most shocking confessions. Or, after your boyfriend cheats on you, you propose a threesome to your best friends and it might just be what they have always wanted. 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑℑ ♡ WARNING: only!18+ pet names, explicit sexual content, explicit language, unprotected sex, pussy eating, size kink, oral giving and receiving, double penetration, threesomes, dirty talk and more. ♡A/N: Here they are, our winners. I'm a little overjoyed because I'm about to try out a new style for myself. I'm still trying my best to write smut. So please be gentle with me. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.

One year ago.

It was a feeling of sweet euphoria coursing through your veins. Pure, scalding ecstasy that frothed your blood and clouded your mind. Multicolored neon lights licked greedily at your wet, naked skin, leaving acid green and poisonous pink burns on it. All your senses were overloaded, and every touch felt like a liquid flame. The throbbing bass of the deafening music echoed through your body like the beating of your own heart and completely consumed all of your other senses, except for absolute pleasure.

You lost track of the amount of alcohol you had consumed that day, shot after shot, until a pleasant fog began to form in your head, blocking out all other thoughts. The tequila flowed down your throat like water, and you were sure you'd remember how it tasted in the morning, but you didn't care what you'd done tonight or how you knew you'd feel tomorrow. You didn't care about that. Your aim was to forget yourself, to disappear into the crowd, to merge with the music until any connection to the outside world was nothing more than the beginning of the next day.

Dance, baby, dance!

The atmosphere in the club grew fuzzier and fainter, sweaty, hot bodies pressed closer together merging, the hot touches of forbidden pleasures caressing the skin with the fingertips of strangers, wet lips touching the bare, sticky skin on you shoulders, pressing rough impatient kisses into it. Too many people and too many strangers are here for nothing but fuck.

You weren't a stupid little girl who believed in virginal marriage and pink ponies; to be honest, you were far from that gentle picture. God, Wooyoung, and San had been your best friends since high school, and now you were at university, and if after all that time you couldn't repeat every position in the Kama Sutra by heart, it really surprised you. Innocence and modesty were the last words in your vocabulary, and with Wooyoung's big mouth, you were well aware of the whole of theirs sex life. And when you say everything, you mean every fucking detail, and to Wooyoung's credit, he has a great memory and meticulous storytelling.

How long has it been since you started dancing? 20 minutes—or was it two hours? You could swear that Sang and Ueyoung were at your side a minute ago. Or did they leave you alone on the dance floor hours ago?

You can't remember at all.

Your mind is buzzing, your fingertips are tingling, and your heart is pounding against your ribs from the adrenaline rush of matching the beat of some new-fangled track and creating a world of your own inside your body. This sound will vibrate more and more strongly under your skin until your brain ceases to function, allowing you to let go of all the worries in the world and give yourself over completely to the music. Alcohol really does work wonders.

Man, you felt so good.

In the back of your drunken mind, you can't help but wonder if tonight could have gone differently. Probably, but here you are, drunk as hell, huddled with a stranger on a neon dance floor instead of a soft bed in your favorite man's arms. Where the hell did you take the wrong turn? It would seem that something in the universe hasn't gone quite according to plan. Did you have any idea this morning that your sweet, perfect boyfriend would be cheating on you? Correction: he's been cheating on you for a long time. You probably never would have found out if you hadn't come home from couples earlier than usual and continued to be his "convenient girlfriend." Hell, it wasn't nice, and maybe not as hurtful, if he'd been fucking someone else instead of your best friend. Were you that bad? Weren't you good enough? Either way, you've still got time to destroy yourself—maybe tomorrow, maybe never.

Maybe you'll even think about it when you visit the bastard in the hospital. He should have known better than to even think about cheating, and the clotted blood on San's knuckles proved that. Everyone at the university knew that you were Ateez's golden girl, and to mess with you was to mess with them. And since you, Wooyoung, and San were literally glued to each other, it was tantamount to suicide. 

At the moment, the only thing that was more upsetting than the image of your ex-boyfriend driving his dick all the way up to his balls into your ex-friend's skinny body was the fact that your beautiful vintage sofa would have to be thrown away. Semen doesn't wash off. You checked.

Hongjoong is going to be absolutely devastated. That sofa was the absolute love of his life.

It's all nothing more than a vague memory of the day gone by, mixed into an indecipherable cacophony of shrill screams and blurred images. To be honest, you don't remember much of the chaos, as Wooyoung pressed your face against his chest with such force that you wouldn't be surprised to see your make-up imprinted on the light fabric of his shirt. All you could hear was loud cursing and the sound of a punch in the face. You hoped that San's punch was strong enough to break the asshole's jaw. And after that, there were a few hours of tears and emotional crisis until they'd had enough and pulled you into this club with a gentle and accepting hand: "Come on, baby, you could use a break and a change of scenery" from San, and "Fuck that scumbag, go show him what he's lost, baby" from Wooyoung. It was an absolute mystery how the two of them synchronized perfectly.

You have no idea what you would do without these two.

A few more minutes go by in this way, until you feel hot hands on your hips, pulling you closer to the hard body on your back. You don't have to turn around to see that it's San; the scent of his perfume, mixed with the sweat and the smoke of a freshly smoked cigarette, makes you dizzy, and you rest your head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath of the intoxicating mixture. Suddenly you want to get as close to him as possible, turn around and press your face against his hard, structured chest, breathing in deeply and sinking into him completely. Your arms reach out behind you and wrap around San's neck, tangling your fingers in the scarlet strands of hair at the nape of his neck. You feel it on your back as the action makes him purr like a cat. You wonder what other sounds you might be able to catch him making.

You shake yourself. The thought of it sends shivers down your arms and makes all the muscles in your lower abdomen tingle.

You should stop. These are bad thoughts. Very bad thoughts.

"Damn, baby girl, how much did you drink while we were away?" Wooyoung's voice is rough and husky, but his touch is gentle and careful as his fingers intertwine with yours. He has always touched you in a way that no other man in the world, with the exception of him and San, has ever been able to touch you. There was no comparison with your ex's touch. Wooyoung's touch is a promise. A promise to protect, to care, and perhaps to love? You could swear you saved the planet in your past life because you have such great friends in this one, or maybe a little more than friends, but you're not sure what to call this feeling. 

You had been friends for so long that it wasn't weird not have a crush on Wooyoung or to dream of being married to San. The guy was literally a walking husband; he was second only to Songhwa in that respect, but please, Hwa was the epitome of husband material. You might even have wanted to be in the middle of it, sandwiched between hot bodies while they literally fucked the life out of you. But it was all just thoughts. Fleeting dreams that clung to the edges of your consciousness. You were the type to date, and they were the type to fuck. You were different when it came to loving. In any case, it was all a long time ago. You had a boyfriend, and Wooyoung and San collected girls like Pokémon. Somehow, you were sure that if you slept together, your friendship would end.

You weren't ready for that. With a strength that only Jongho could match, you ignored any romantic feelings for them

"Mmm… Woo, I have no recollection, but I had fun." You licked your lips as if you were trying to taste the lingering taste of the tequila and opened your eyes to stare straight into Wooyoung's face, full of worry. He could have been the biggest bitch if he wanted to be. But for you, that 'maternal' instinct of overprotection has kicked in. You stare at him unblinkingly in that moody light, he looks beautiful, to the point of being stupidly handsome, so damn handsome that you want to pull him to you and kiss him without explanation or reason. And you can do that because you know he's never, ever going to say no to you but kiss you? Wooyoung's tongue will be the first to enter your mouth. He will suck on it like a drunk, and he will hold on to you until there is almost no air left in your lungs.

"We leave you alone, gongjunim, for five minutes, and you're already in trouble. Shall I give you a lesson in obedience?" San is speaking into your ear, loud enough for you to hear him clearly, each word coming through the loud electric bass. His voice is too sultry to be sober enough. Woo probably talked him into a few shots, although he always got drunk pretty easily. The two were threatening each other. And to you as well.

The evil voice inside your head grinned: You know you want it. He's going to punish you for being such a bad, naughty girl. He will teach you to be the best little girl for him and for them and to follow all his rules. He'll make you beg and make you cry…

Fuck, girl, come to your senses. Since when did you start to think with your pussy instead of using your brain? Or do you automatically turn into a horny, over-excited idiot after a break-up? Turn on your brains; they are your best friends.

Completely ignoring San's words, you whimpered:

"I'm thirsty." Your tongue is dry in your mouth, and your lips feel unpleasantly rough as you say the words. It looks like the fun's over for today.

San can't help but laugh at your capricious behavior, and you wriggle restlessly in his arms, trying to free yourself from his firm grip, but he only manages to hold you even tighter. You sigh in annoyance and decide to try your luck with Wooyoung.

"Woo, help me." You whine again, reaching out and pulling Wooyoung closer so that your forehead rests against his collarbone.

He smells good, like sandalwood and vanilla, like home.

Wooyoung lifts your face with his fingertips. The touch is soft and comforting, despite the roar of the music and the crowd of strangers around you. He stares intently into your eyes, almost too serious for your drunken haze. He hopes to find something more than alcohol-induced excitement.

"Come on, baby. It's time to go home." He releases your hand and carefully wipes the sweat from your forehead and cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt, his fingers lingering on your lips for a moment, and you playfully stick out your tongue and lick the pads of his fingers. God, may you not remember this tomorrow.

"But I don't want to…" You purse your lips again. You turn your head towards San, looking for his support. "Sanni, let's stay a bit more." Your big, shining eyes are not making it easy for him, but you were already quite drunk, and judging by the way your body was leaning against him, you could hardly stand properly.

"Wooyoung's right, gongjunim, it's over for you today."

Something wild in you just wants to be a brat and start arguing, but the rational part of your brain wins out. You sigh tiredly and try to wriggle out of his grip, and of course you stumble, grabbing Wooyoung's biceps with your hands in an attempt to stay on your feet and not break your high-heeled leg, which would be a great way to end the night.

A strong arm immediately wraps around your waist. It digs lightly into the exposed skin between your top and your jeans. You can feel the coldness of the thin band of his ring. It actually burns from how sensitive you were now.

"I got you, chagi." San whispers softly and hoarsely into your ear, and you cling even more tightly to Wooyoung's arm as your legs begins to shake, but no longer from the alcohol you've drunk and the tiredness, but from his sultry tone. Damn, was that a saturi, or was it just your imagination?

"We'll be on our way now, for sure." Wooyoung takes your hand once more, pulling it away from his bicep, and quickly leads you through the crowd of sweaty bodies, completely ignoring your feeble protests until you see the flashing exit sign. The red neon sign brings you ominously close to the point where you are left alone with them. And you feel San's heavy presence at your back like never before. 

The sounds of the city swallow you up and make you dizzy as Wooyoung opens the heavy metal door. Couples are kissing all over the place. Noisy groups of people are huddled together waiting for a taxi or sharing a single joint, leaving a faint smell of weed in the air. You can still hear the vibrating bass of the music that is pouring out of the club; it echoes in your head in an unpleasant way, with a slight throbbing pain. All of a sudden, all you want to do is find yourself in a warm bed, snuggled up against San or Wooyoung, or even better, against both of them.

San's hand on your waist tenses as you bend over to hail a taxi. Wooyoung's hands come down on your hips, hot and strong, and just like that, you find yourself sandwiched between them, their bodies shielding you safely from the searing cold and dirty stares. You could swear that you can hear Wooyoung swears to himself while a drunk guy is moving his tongue between two spread fingers and looking in your direction. San's body tenses instinctively. What's with all this protection? We're not in some kind of alpha-character romance; you can take care of yourself.

But in spite of that, your body still relaxes, your head leans back against Wooyoung's shoulder, and you rub your face against his like a cat.

"You're so drunk, baby." Woo chuckles and gives you a light kiss on the top of your head. "That's my girl."

My girl, just the sound of that one sentence makes a little fire start in your belly. What the hell is wrong with you today? A week ago, you were rinsing his mouth after Woo drank too much, and now you're ready to lick his mouth from the inside. 

Fuck.

All these thoughts make you lose track of what's happening until you feel the smooth leather of the car seat beneath you and the soft touch of San's lips on your bare shoulder. You moan, either from annoyance or excitement. San just smiles and presses his lips harder against you. Finally, you are going home.

You faintly hear Wooyoung giving the Uber driver the coordinates of your apartment complex, your hands intertwining again, relaxing further as Wooyoung's head rests on your shoulder. His long hair tickles the back of your neck.

Sobriety slowly begins to clear your head as the ride continues. You're still drunk, but you're much more aware than before.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Your voice is low, barely above a whisper, but in the confined space of the car's backseat, they can hear it well. It sets them in motion again, hands clasped around you with renewed confidence. You play mindlessly with the silver rings that adorn Wooyoung's long fingers, and you don't go unnoticed by San's light strokes on the outside of your thigh.

"All for you, chagiya." San whispers back and gives Wooyoung a meaningful look. There's something special between the two of them—a dialogue that is spoken without words but in which they both know exactly what is meant. If only you knew what was going on inside their heads…

You let your hand drop to Wooyoung's muscular thigh and ran the palm of your hand over it a couple of times, feeling the tight muscles under the skin of his trousers. He covers the palm of your hand with his own and squeezes it in a silent, gentle gesture of affection.

"I love you guys…" You whisper, sticking out your tongue to lick your suddenly dry lips. You hear them giggling together before you feel San press his nose against the soft skin of your collarbone, rubbing against it like a cat. He's the ultimate cinnamon bun; how he can be someone who's had sex with half the university is still a mystery to you.

"I love you too, gongjunim." And he means it, like he really loves you—much more than a friend should.

"Mmm, I love you more. You know that, baby." Wooyoung bites the skin on the back of your neck in a playful way, and you feel his wet tongue pressing against the site of the bite for a few seconds. 

"You're not sleeping in my bed. Woo, stop it; that tactic won't work on me anymore."

He whimpers back with a puff of his swollen lips, turning his face away from you with an irritated roll of his eyes as you and San laugh, his arms naturally wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his body so that you're practically sitting on his lap. A faint melody, from some kind of soft track, pours out of the speakers and lulls you into a state of serenity. You find it harder and harder to keep your eyes open. Your body relaxes even more in San's arms.

The next twenty minutes fly by, and you only begin to wake up when the cab door slams behind you and Wooyoung drags you into her flat. The fobs on your keys jingle loudly in the silence of the corridor as San fiddles with them to unlock the door. You sway in Woo's arms as you wait for the door to your apartment to open. The soothing scent of neroli and orchids greets you as you enter, your body automatically relaxing into the safety of your personal space, and you fall wearily into the armchair opposite sofa.

As the door closes, you hear the sound of the boys hurrying down the corridor, taking off their shoes and jackets. You can imagine San carefully placing his shoes next to yours and Wooyoung's one shoe being kicked further down the corridor. So damn different.

Woo sprints into the kitchen, slams the door of the fridge shut, and there is a bottle of cold water in front of your face.

"Here you go, starlight." He sinks to the floor at your feet and leans back against them, resting his head in your lap as he does so. You run your fingers through his long black hair, brushing it away from his face, and meet his gaze with your own. It's familiar; away from the deafening music and the sweaty crowd, you feel much better now, despite the fact that a few hours ago your ex was fucking your friend on the couch across the hall. This is still your home, and you're sure that in a few days your entire apartment will be taken apart and put back together by the caring hands of Seonghwa and Yeosang, when there won't be a trace of your failed past relationships left.   "Are you okay?" San asks, leaning against the doorjamb.

"I'm… fine, yeah. Probably not as good as I'd like to be, but I'll be fine; it'll just take some time. At the moment, I'm just tired of it all."

"Go take a shower, sweetie; San and I will take care of the rest." Wooyoung says as he gets up from the floor and pulls the leather jacket off of his shoulders. The wide collar of his black t-shirt shows the tattoo on his back. You always found that part of him extremely sexy.

You rise from your chair, grimacing at the pain in your legs after so many hours in high heels. Your top falls to the floor as you take it off, the lace of your black lingerie clinging to your body like a second skin. They've seen you naked more than once or twice, and in any case, you're not one of those cute girls who blushes at every opportunity. You have to struggle to pull your jeans down your legs because they are so tight around your arse. The next thing to come off is your underwear, which you leaves halfway to the toilet somewhere. You let them take care of that too.

The level of intimacy that you have with San and Wooyoung is so high that it virtually erases any barrier to acceptable standards of friendship. Years of shared memories, from when you started high school to when you practically star graduates of Seoul National University. God, the things you've done and the situations you've been in—it's been a hectic time. The three of you literally know each other to your bones—sharing habits, feelings, clothes, and even some sexual practices under the influence of alcohol and chance. You've seen them fuck; they've held your hair when you've puked, helped with periods, you've seen them jerking off in the morning or heard them moaning loudly in the bathroom, you all watched porn together—it's all been part of your friendship. In a way, the three of you have been completely and utterly shameless.

You close the bathroom door and stare wearily at your reflection in the large mirror. Your hair is disheveled from those beautiful waves there's not a trace, your skin is glistening with sweat, your make-up looks messy—a bit of smudged eyeliner, smeared lipstick—and in general, you look like you've been beaten up. The pupils of your eyes are dilated, even though you're still feeling sleepy, and there's a bit of puffiness under your eyes from previous tantrum.

Wow, you look like a real mess. You turn away from the mirror, turn on the tap of water, and sink back into your usual daily routine. The water cleanses not only your body but also your mind, spectacularly washing away all the memories and regrets of the day.

It seems to be at least a minute before you hear the sound of a heavy knock on the door. San's voice is muffled over the sound of water and steam, rough, husky, and incredibly sexy, sending electric shocks through your body and unexpected heat building between your thighs. Your fingers turn the handle, stopping the water from flowing, and you take a few long breaths, trying to get rid of this strange feeling. What's wrong with you today?

"Chagi, are you okay?"

You mooed in response, stepped out of the shower, and wrapped the towel around your body before opening the door to face him. He's standing across the bathtub, slumped against the wall, so soft and fluffy, when you open the door. San has changed into a pair of loose pajamas, which are very cute, according to your taste. He has washed off his make-up and generally looks more like an adorable bun than the voluptuous demon he is supposed to be at the university.

"What the hell took you so long? Wooyoung's already starting to climb the wall from here." He whimpers with a pucker on his lips.

"I needed some time to myself, Sanni."

He bites his bottom lip before nodding. His burning gaze travels over you from head to toe, lingering a little longer than usual on your thighs and breasts, and your body heats up at the sensation. When your eyes meet, there is an emotion that you are unfamiliar with that hovers just above the surface of his gleaming dark irises. Something predatory flashes across his face, just for a second, but it's enough to make your skin tingle with an unknown sense of anticipation.

"Just a few more minutes, and then I'll be on my way, all right? Tell Wooyoung to be a little more patient."

"Alright."

You step back into the tub, close the door behind you, and press your back against the wall. You bite your lips, trying to hold back a groan of disappointment. It's not that after all these years of friendship you've never felt sexually aroused in their presence; after all, Wooyoung and San were so damn attractive and even flirtatious to the point of insanity, they fit the cliché of lusty, popular boys at university so well.

Perhaps you had once or twice wondered what it would be like to be close to one of them, or even better, both of them—what their bodies would feel like and what their tastes would be like. Yet, consciously ignoring any romantic urges in their direction, you buried those thoughts deep in the back of your mind. You didn't want to think about how beautiful San's smile was, with those sweet dimples, or how your skin burned under Woo's playful, incessant kisses. But those were only fragmentary thoughts, a dangerous feeling creeping into your heart.

For a while your hunger for them was satisfied by a succession of boy toys until you found yourself a steady boyfriend, well until you caught him with one of your girlfriends tonight. Either way, the sex was hardly satisfying enough to get too upset about, but still, the ache in your heart and your bottom-punched self-esteem stung like a bitch.

But today there was something different between the three of you; on a day like any other, there was a different feeling. It wasn't anything special; San's tearful face had been tucked between your breasts more than once or twice after another romantic fiasco, and Wooyoung had been a complete fool in love, getting burned so many times because he wore his heart on his sleeve. You have been friends long enough to know how to comfort each other after breaking up. You have never experienced such a tension between the three of you before.

There was a barely perceptible change in the air; there was an electric tension in the chemistry between you; a crackle in the air like a thunderstorm was about to break. The storm was coming at a furious pace, and you weren't sure if you were going to be able to handle it. To end up between them was like voluntarily stepping into a hurricane rated at twelve. Was that what you wanted? You probably did. Did they want it? There was no way of knowing. Would things have changed if you'd fucked, yes, of course, but would you have had a 'happily ever after', you weren't so sure.

You brush your hair with your fingertips, hissing in pain when you can't untangle the tangled locks, and continue this compulsive action as you step out of the suddenly claustrophobic space of the bathroom. The corridor is cold, and the change in temperature causes goose bumps to run down the length of your skin. Cold air climbs under the towel's edges, clinging uncomfortably to your tender inner thighs.

"I left some fresh clothes for you on the dresser next to the bathtub. Didn't you notice?" San asks. His pronunciation is as simple as if he hadn't been the one who just a few minutes ago ate you alive with his eyes. He is sitting on the arm of the chair Wooyoung is comfortably ensconced in, mindlessly scrolling through social media.

The couch, which was once your favorite place to be, is clearly in disuse. You're already anticipating Hongjoong's endless complaints about it. That couch was the love of his life.

Wooyoung has changed his clothes too; there's no trace of the seductive college hottie left; the stretchy top of the oversized shirt slipping off his shoulders to expose his collarbones made him look so tiny and cuddly; and the soft disheveled hair falling over his face gave his features something adorably puppyish. They both looked homely and terribly comfortable, as if this was legitimately their home and not yours, as if their place had always been here, the space they belonged to.

"It's stuffy. I don't want to get dressed." You reply, pulling the towel tighter around your chest. You actually contradict yourself by wrapping your arms around yourself, but you don't want to explain anything to them either.

"Personally, I like it all; you can keep going, baby."

"Of course you like it, Woo; we all know about your love for exhibitionism." You say this nonchalantly and let your body fall into Wooyoung's lap, not caring that you're actually naked under the towel or that his shirt is getting wet as the water from your wet hair drips onto it. You're trapped between their bodies again, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't like the feeling. You savor his scent and the feel of his smooth skin as your face sinks into the curve of Woo's neck.

You all sink into a nice, relaxing silence as the boys scroll through endless social media feeds, your eyes grow heavier, and the need for sleep becomes more palpable. But you love it so much—just being around them, not thinking about anything else, feeling the way San's fingers play with your hair while you twirl the rings on Woo's fingers—that you probably have a fetish for his hands. Anyway, you don't mind.

Minutes go by like this, slowly approaching an hour. You feel content and warm as you sit on Wooyoung's gorgeous muscular thighs. He is humming something to himself, drawing scattered patterns with his fingertips on your bare thigh. Your lips press against Woo's neck, leaving a sweet kiss on his skin. He squirms beneath you, his fingers clenching tighter and tighter on your thigh. God, he's so hot.

"You're so needy, kitten," San says with laughter before you feel his lips on your shoulder. It's not a chaste, friendly kiss; no, his lips are wet with saliva, open so you can feel the scorching breath and his tongue tip gliding across your skin in slow motion. San is licking you like a cat, damn it.

"Is this a side effect of the break-up or something like that? Look at you, Peach. You're a horny mess." Wooyoung raises an eyebrow in curiosity and pulls you closer to his chest. You slide down his thighs, and the towel scratches a little higher, a little more, and they can easily see your pussy. At that thought, the familiar throbbing between your legs reminds you just how wet you are, the viscous, clear liquid threatening to run down the inside of your thighs and stain Woo's clothes.

Praying that neither of them will notice how flushed and horny you feel at this moment, you squeeze your legs together and slide your hand down to pull the towel further down your legs, as far down as possible in this position.

You're so thirsty; the lust is bubbling just beneath the surface of your skin, and the heady mix of their scent and the residual alcohol in your blood is making you feel like such a needy slut.

The rational part of your brain tells you that you should be in a completely different state right now—a mess of tears and snot, probably on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown. Somewhere between the self-destruction of your own self-esteem and a crisis of identity, But here you are, practically naked in Woo's arms, with an obscenely wet pussy and no shame whatsoever.

In contrast to the'real' half of you, something small and evil urged you to go further, to spread your legs, to expose yourself shamelessly, to ride Wu's thigh and have a hot rodeo until you couldn't cum any more, and then let San use you however he wanted; you don't mind at all being a chew toy for him. Hell, boy, all you want to do is let him fuck your brains out.

You sink your teeth into your lower lip with force; the taste of blood is almost in your mouth.

"Fuck me. I want to sleep, baby. You can use me. Let's go to bed."You whine, puffing up your cheeks.

"Okay, okay, baby, let's put the princess to bed." San lifts you from your place on Woo's lap and pulls you tightly against his chest, and you can clearly feel every ripple of muscle on that perfect body. When did he have time to get that big?

He carries you into the bedroom like a princess. Wooyoung's shuffling footsteps can be heard behind you, and you throw your head back to meet his gaze.

"We had a change of sheets. Personally, I'm in favor of burning all his stuff."

"Have I told you I love you?"

"Mmm, let me think. Maybe just a few thousand times." He gives you a cheeky smile, and you laugh.

"Love, love, love, love, I love you so much. You're the best boys in the world. You sing with a big smile on your face, and the sound of their laughter fills the bedroom. 

"We love you too; we love you so much."

If you weren't so drunk and tired, your brain might have been able to process Wooyoung's changed intonation, but you completely ignored any possible hint of how they felt about you.

San gently laid you down on the bed, and Woo's lithe body crawled beside you, snuggling against your side, hugging you like his personal teddy bear.

"Woo, let her go; she has to put on some clothes." He pulls off his T-shirt and holds the soft fabric out in front of you. Your hands lazily crumple it up in an attempt to decide whether or not to put it on, but the boys decide for you. 

Wooyoung sits you down and holds you tightly by the waist while San pulls the T-shirt over your head and pulls off the towel at the same time. You are still naked, but you are a bit more decent now.

"You're such good friends. I wish I could date someone like you." You lie back down, and Woo's hands paddle you again, as if it's his natural reflex. You're not aware of the exchange of glances between the two of them. The silent conversation that goes on between them is completely ignored.

"Hmm, someone like us?" San sits down on the bed in front of you, and in an instant, your fingers cling to his naked chest. You want so badly to sink your teeth into the smooth, bulging muscles of his chest. "Baby, aren't you afraid we're going to be jealous?"

"You and jealousy, come on. I went out with Suho, and none of you minded."

"It's because the idiot has a tiny dick." With an evil giggle, Woo whispers in your ear.

"Wooyoung!"

"He's right, chagia. When was the last time you had an orgasm?"

"San, not you too." You whine and give him a light tap on the shoulder.

"Well, if you were with someone like us, you'd know what it means to have a good fuck. We'd fuck your brains out, baby."

"Jung Wooyoung, wash your filthy mouth. San, tell him." You call out to your more rational friend in a resentful tone to calm Woo down.

"Well, I can't say that he's wrong. You won't be on foot for days after we are." The grin on San's face is so predatory that you can't tell that it's your sweet himbo friend. It's making the muscles at the bottom of your stomach clench in anticipation of this promise.

"You do know that I used to sleep with Yunho before I started dating Suho, right? You can hardly come as a surprise to me; he's very good."

"We know." Woo hissed in annoyance, and his arms tightened around you, planting his foot on your thigh and completely cutting off any attempt you might have made to pull away from him, even if you wanted to.

"But we're so much better." A hot palm slides just over your waist near to Wooyoung's hand, practically covering your breasts. You feel the full weight of it on your body.

"In your dreams."

For a few moments, you close your eyes and fall silent. The comforting silence lulls you to sleep, but there is one thought that keeps you from falling completely into a deep slumber. With a groan, you come back to reality, blinking slowly as your brain forms the words that seem to be too heavy on the tip of your tongue—heavy, but so damned sweet.

"I wanna… I mean, let's have threesome." 

"Sorry, what!" Wooyoung almost yells, sitting up in bed in an instant and staring at you with his eyes wide open. If the situation wasn't so serious, you could laugh at his shocked expression. "Is it an offer for sex? Right now?"

"Jesus, Wooyoung, just let me finish." You sit down as well and take each one of them by the hand. "We graduate next year, and if… if we are all free and you don't mind, maybe we can have threesomes."

"I'm ready. Why wait?" Woo clings to you like a leech. He presses every inch of his body against you so tightly that you practically melt into each other. His skin is hot, and you can feel his breath brushing against your ear and his lips touching it as he speaks. "Come, Y/N, we can do this now. I'm going to take you to heaven."

"Wooyoung, I'm serious."

You have to look at San, who's been silent the whole time. The look in his eyes is so dark, full of lust and hunger. It doesn't leave you for a second.

"San…"

"I'll do anything for you, Y/N."

"I'll be ready for you in a year if you're still willing. Now get out of the room, the both of you. Tonight I'll be alone in bed."

You push them off the bed, San rolls over on the floor with a clatter, and Wooyoung jumps up like a man who has been scalded.

"But chagi…" He whines, loud and nasty, as San drags him out of the room.

"Sweet dreams, gongjunim." That's the last thing you hear before the door slams shut behind them and you're left alone in the bedroom.

You can hear their muffled voices coming from the hallway, trying so hard to keep quiet. Wooyoung's incessant complaining, mixed with San's low muttering, effectively lulls you to sleep. You probably won't even remember tonight, let alone this stupid proposal, but little do you know that neither San nor Wooyoung have any intention of letting you forget.

You are going to have a very funny year in front of you. 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖚𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 ❧ ℑ𝔗'𝔖 𝔜𝔒𝔘 | 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑℑ

[hoe4hotchner]

Hi, i love your writings!! Can i request a reader x hotchner where reader has a panic attack and hotch calms them down? Preferably with fem!reader but i'll leave it up to you.

Steady Hands | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | WC: 0.5k | CW: Panic attack, angst + comfort

You barely registered the spiral beginning — one second you were fine, and then it was as if something heavy crushed your chest, squeezing tighter as each breath desperately clawed its way out. You felt trapped, frozen to your chair, helpless against the flood of panic ripping through you. The world felt like it was closing in, sounds warping and fading, and your vision blurred as tears pricked at your eyes.

Your fingers dug into the edge of your desk, knuckles white, as if holding on would somehow stop the dizzying storm inside. You bowed your head towards your lap as you tried to steady yourself. Your breaths were shallow, coming too fast, yet it felt like there was never enough air for a single breath that was deep enough to truly snap you out of it. Your heart thundered so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else around you.

And then, a warm, steady hand closed over yours.

Your mind barely had time to process what was happening, and for a brief second, your chest tightened even more in fright. But a familiar voice, low and soothing, broke through the haze. “It’s me. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

It was Hotch.

He was crouched beside you, his eyes soft and full of concern, studying you with such care that it hurt. His fingers laced through yours, grounding you, pulling you back from the overwhelming part of your brain.

“Aaron…” you managed to gasp, but your voice was thin, choked.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured, leaning closer, his thumb running gentle circles across the back of your hand. His touch was so warm, so present, and it made your heart flutter. “I’m right here. Just breathe with me, okay?”

You wanted to respond, to tell him you couldn’t, that it was too much, but he was already breathing — slow, deep, steady breaths. One, two, three, four. His voice was like an anchor, and you focused on the rise and fall of his chest as he coaxed you to follow along. “In…hold it…now let it out.”

It was hard. Every inhale felt like a battle, like dragging yourself out from the depths, but his eyes never left you, making sure that you were following him. Hotch kept talking to you, his voice a soothing murmur, reminding you that you weren’t alone, that he was here, and that you were safe while staying calm and quiet as to not rile you up.

Slowly and painfully, the fog began to clear.

As your breaths evened out, his hand never left yours. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered, his words were gentle and full of pride. “I’m so proud of you.”

The words hit harder than you expected, filling the emptiness left behind by your panic with something comforting. A few stray tears slid down your cheeks, but this time, they weren’t from fear.

Aaron’s thumb brushed one away, his hand cradling your face with the same tenderness he held in his gaze. He waited until your breathing was fully steady — until your hand stopped shaking in his. “I’m right here,” he repeated softly, and you felt the sincerity of every word, like a promise he’d never break.

You took a shuddering breath, the weight on your chest finally lifting. “Thank you, Aaron,” you whispered, your voice was raw, yet steadier than before.

He gave you a small, gentle smile. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he replied, his voice just as soft. And in his steady hands, you knew you were safe.

[luveline]

darling darling jade-y!!! I saw your post about semi specific requests that you like to write and I thought I’d combine two of the things I saw on there ❤️

for asf!Fred, very possibly maybe reader gets a serious concussion and Fred has worries about how the brain fog may affect readers tendencies to dissociate or that the confusion might further upset her? Just general, mutual hurt comfort where everyone’s worries are put at ease in the end ❤️❤️

I love coming back to your blog almost everyday and always finding something delicious to read no matter if i’m reading something new or rereading a fav!! Sorry this was a bit long but I love to sing people’s praises!! Have a looovely day or night ❤️

thank you for your request lovely! 💌 —Fred takes care of you when you can’t look after yourself, but he finds it hard to ignore how your actions mimic the past. 2k, fem

cw mental health issues

“It’s alright. Hold my hand.”

Fred puts his hand out for you in the middle of George and Angelina’s living room. Your eyes shine with hurt, so odd to see when no one’s said anything cruel, and you won’t take it. You’re stuck where you’re standing.

“Go on, sweetheart, take my hand. It’s okay. I’m just gonna help you.”

You put your hand up gently. Fred takes the hint and twines his hand through yours, tickled by the slowness of your fingers curling over the backs of his knuckles. “Thank you,” he says, taking a guiding step to the sofa. “Come on. Let’s sit down.”

You walk. Fred takes your shoulders into his hands when you’re close enough and holds you to his chest as he shakes out the pillows behind you, making room for you to sit comfortably. “Okay, sit down, my girl. There you go.” He grins at you. “Brilliant. How do you feel, are you okay?”

You stare at him. Your despondency makes him feel sick, but he swallows it down. He bends at the waist to meet your eyes with nothing but patience and fondness. “Y/N,” he says slowly, reaching for your knee. “Do you need to go to bed?”

“No.”

“No. Alright, I’m going to get your drink, and see if George is finished with dinner, okay? I’m not going far.”

You give him a look you’ve employed many times since you got hurt, like you can’t work out why he’s acting strangely, or perhaps why you’re acting strangely. Fred pulls your hand to his mouth for a kiss, barely a kiss, more like he’s pressing the entirety of your hand to his lips.

“Love you,” you say.

“I love you,” he says into your hand. “Okay? I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“I know, I know, I just don’t want you to worry.”

He encourages your shoulders back to have you flush to the sofa and sends you a wink as he goes. You almost laugh, teeth peeking out as you smile at him, the happiest you’ve looked for at least the last two days. Your brain fog is persistent and bothersome, to put it lightly.

Fred heads into the kitchen where George is plating a large baking tray of pasta into four dishes, two of which he’s set atop the microwave.

“Hey,” George says, “I’ve got two for now and two for tomorrow, just in case.”

Fred doesn’t know how to say thank you, so he doesn’t. If Fred weren’t in love with you in a way that’s changed his entire being, George would still look after you, because you’re one of his best friends, and he’s yours. But Fred does love you, and George knows that, and to be taken care of by his brother while you recover is a privilege he won’t take lightly.

“Don’t worry about it, Forge. I think mums got a lasagna with our names on it waiting in her fridge…” Fred leans against the wall by the door frame and covers his eyes. He’d been joking, and now suddenly he feels sick again.

“You okay?” George asks.

Fred holds out his hand, as if to say, Don’t ask me. Don’t ask and don’t come near me. He doesn’t think that boys don’t cry, but he just hates being this person who can’t keep it together. You need to be looked after by someone who’s fully present while you’re disassociative. Fred needs to be that person, but it’s just so hard seeing you like this again.

“I feel like–” He swallows nothing, meeting George’s waiting gaze with a weak smile. “Feel like she’s that scared lonely girl again and there’s nothing I can do to make it up to her.”

George puts the empty pan on the back burner. He tosses dirty spoons and forks into the sink, and wipes his hands on a tea towel pensively. “It’s a brutal mix of symptoms,” he says finally, his voice straining. “But she’ll get better again.”

Post concussive symptoms are about as bad as it comes, and they can last for months. Not just weeks. Among the more manageable, such as dizziness, high blood pressure, and fatigue, are the worst Fred could imagine for you in particular —cognitive dissonance, memory loss, brain fog, anxiety, and depression. Even if you recover from each of your physical symptoms, it’s not uncommon for people who sustain a brain injury to remain depressed.

You’re already sick. Fred loves you and he doesn’t mind, doesn’t care, not a single thing will change for him, but you’re not well, and this head injury could send you into a tailspin.

“I forgot what she looks like when she’s hopeless,” Fred says. “I really did.”

“She’s not hopeless, Freddie, she’s hurt. Her head will get better, and she’ll get better too, because she has us to make sure of it.” George puts a plate of pasta onto a wooden tray with a knife and fork. “I’m… you know, I’m worried too.”

“Yeah.”

“I have Parmesan cheese and stuff in the fridge.”

“It’s okay. I’m gonna take hers in first.”

“You have to eat.”

“I know, I will. She might take some convincing, is all.”

It’s not as though Fred thought you were going to walk away from your concussion without consequence. It was an awful injury, his heart has never pounded that fast or that hard in his life, but he didn’t expect the symptoms of what you’re experiencing now to coincide as heavily as they do with your worst struggles.

You're teary eyed on the sofa, pressing yourself back into the apex of the arm and the cushions. It’s another symptom with multiple causes; Fred has found you crying because you were confused, and aching, and without explanation. It can happen and be finished within a few seconds.

“Hi, lovely girl. I have your dinner.”

“What is it?” you ask, sniffing.

Fred remembers the days in his last year of school where you’d been hungry enough to shake but not willing to eat. You didn’t know then and you can’t know now the sort of pain it is to watch a friend not be able to feed themselves without extreme effort, and Fred wouldn't want that for you, but it’s why he can’t explain his relief to you that you still have your appetite.

He sits down next to you and puts the tray on your lap, tentative at first to touch you in case he puts you off eating, then greedy with his hands as you eat a big first mouthful, and a second. You’re not uncoordinated despite the doctor's warnings. The dissonance seems to come before decision making for you, and this decision is firmly made.

You’re hungry so you’re eating.

Fred had to beg yesterday for you to eat. Hands on your legs, tone dropped into the most dulcet it’s ever been, asking, “Just one thing, can you do that for me? A piece of toast, lovely.”

That’s why you’re here. Fred can’t take care of you alone, he’s found. It’s almost fitting that you should need both of them again, even if Fred wishes you didn’t.

He knows it’s saccharine. Patronising, even, but he gives your arm a light squeeze. “Good girl,” he says quietly, relief palpable. “How is that? Is it nice? Don’t tell me all the trouble we had yesterday is because you don’t like my cooking.”

“Felt sick all day,” you say, scratching your bowl with the tines of your fork.

“I know. Do you feel less sick right now?” He cups your face as you nod shyly. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I don’t mind. I’m just kidding. George made you another plate to take home, anyways, so you won't suffer again.”

Your laugh is more breath than voice, but you turn your cheek into his hand before he can pull it away. There’s a connection in your gaze he hasn’t seen for a while. “You’re worrying.”

“I’m fine.”

You put your tray in his lap, and his heart sinks thinking you’re finished already, you’d eaten a few good spoonfuls but not enough to make up for days of pickiness. Your arm slides behind his. “I’m sorry you’re upset,” you say, pressing your cheek to his arm in a cuddle. “You can tell me anything.”

“I’m fine,” he says, rubbing his nose against your head.

“It’s okay, lovely.”

He blinks back tears. “No, I know it’s okay. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“You can have mine. I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Can’t we share it?” he asks. He thinks you might be lying. In your confusion, you’ve taken his upset to be rooted in hunger. “Please?”

“It’s nice,” you say, like you’re agreeing, picking up your fork again to eat from his lap.

Fred breathes out a sigh. If he could, he would wrap you up in a hug so tight it makes you both click.

You offer him a forkful. He eats it and doesn’t comment on the way it taps against his teeth.

“I think I have that pain again,” you say, poking at pasta shells.

“Yeah? In the back of your head?”

“Like a thrumming.”

“I’ll get your painkillers.”

“I’m about to go get them,” George says, carrying a second tray, a soft smile on his face as he puts it on the coffee table. “I can read your mind, ghost.”

“What am I thinking now?” you ask.

“It’s nice to be with your best friends, duh,” he says, turning around again to retrieve your painkillers.

You turn to Fred without saying anything, eye to eye, nearly not quite smiling. You abandon your fork again to wrap your arms around his neck and hug him, hiding. Fred closes his eyes, his arm curved eagerly behind your back. “Don’t knock the tray,” he mumbles, letting out a deep breath.

“You’re making me feel sick,” you say.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s my fault, right? It’s always my fault.”

“No, no, lovely, it’s not your fault.”

“It’s my fault,” you mumble. “There’s something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect to me, you always will be. You’re just not very well today, that’s all it is.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, nearing hurting now, your voice strangled. “I’m sorry, Fred.”

“Ghost, it’s okay.” He shoves the tray from his lap. He can clean up any mess, but this is urgent. You slouch into the space he makes. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s not your fault, and it wouldn’t matter if it was. There’s nothing wrong with you that won’t get better.”

“I don’t like feeling like this.”

Fred collects himself. He can’t panic right now, as much as he wants to. “It’s not forever,” he says, letting his hand run down your back to the base of your spine, “I promise, it’ll start to feel better. I’m not going anywhere until it does, and even then you can’t get rid of me. When was the last time you managed that?”

“I don’t want to get rid of you,” you mumble.

His hand seems to be working. The massaging of his thumb against the base of your spine calms you down. “I don’t want you to,” he says, nudging at your face with hide nose until he can kiss your cheek. “Mm?” he hums, lips sliding against the corner of your mouth. “Just me and you forever, yeah? You can’t be alone when you have me.”

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Diamond Rings 💫

Bale!Bruce Wayne x wife!reader

A/N: I finally got around to writing this lovely request!! Fluffy morning sex is perfect for Bruce AHHH 😭 and this is also the sequel to 'My Precious Jewel' !! Get your nom noms :3

~Fi 🐝

《Prompt》: the ask is here!

《Requested by》: anon <3

《Warnings》: NSFW CONTENT. proceed with caution. Handjob, edging (barely), PiV, throat holding (???), creampie (don't be like them), lil bit of cockwarming, so fluffy it's sickening, Bruce is a hopeless romantic, change my mind. (You can't)

《Word count》: 2.6k

Sequel to My Precious Jewel ♧

Can be read as stand alone as well though!

Masterlist ✨️

Please don't copy my work! I put a lot of effort and heart into the things I write.

🍾●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●🌼●●●●●●●●●●●●●●🍾

🍾●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●🌼●●●●●●●●●●●●●●🍾

The morning sun was streaming in through the curtains, tickling your face. You stirred, craning your neck to take a peak at the time. 8:39 am. You sighed sleepily, turning around and snuggling closer to the man who had his strong arms wrapped around you.

You smiled softly as you saw his peaceful expression, still dreaming away. Feeling a cold sensation on your hot skin, you gently lifted the covers. The hand that held you tightly yet so lovingly had a gold ring sitting on its ring finger. You quickly inspected your own hand, finding a golden wedding band there as well.

You had to stop yourself from squealing like a little girl when you realized that all of it, the wedding, the reception and the kiss weren't a dream. You were officially married now.

There were so many emotions bubbling up in your chest. Unbridled joy, disbelief, and pure excitement. But, you'd decided to deal with all of that later, and for now just enjoy your first morning snooze as Mrs. Wayne.

You pressed a sweet kiss to Bruce's lips, and closed your eyes, burying your face in his t-shirt clad chest. It wasn't even 9 in the morning. You'd sleep till dusk like this if you could. Safely in the embrace of your now husband, feeling each other's steady heartbeat and soft breaths.

A comfortable silence lingered over the estate, safe for Alfred who was probably doing all kinds of things already. You'd urged for him to sleep in today, he deserved a break. But, to your dismay, you knew the man and he couldn't just sit and relax even if he was chained to the chair. Well, as long as he enjoyed whatever he had to do you wouldn't complain.

Your slightly parted lips were pressed right above his heart, gently brushing the cozy fabric of his shirt with every breath. One of your arms was slung over his waist, your fingertips gliding over his back in whatever random pattern your wrist decided to carry out. It was a soothing gesture, making Bruce hum sleepily as he pressed his lips to the top of your head, your hair tickling his face.

His arms tightened around you, making it clear that he didn't want to leave the bed either. He felt like he had been put in chains, in a loving and warm way, not in a constricting and controlling manner. The chains that were your love and affection kept him tied down, sinking into the soft sheets, with an even softer you in his grip.

"Don't ever wanna leave this bed..." you mumbled into his chest. A drowsy smile tugged at Bruce's lips as maneuvered you closer so your legs were intertwined.

"I don't either... never wanna be without you." He sighed, feeling the familiar and gentle call of sleep.

"Wanna sink into the mattress, let it swallow us whole."

Your husband chuckled softly. Lack of sleep and early mornings did tend to bring out the poet in you.

"You can tell me all about that in, say... 4 hours?" His words were jumbled, the heavy fog of slumber taking over his brain. It took you a minute to put together what he said, as your own brain was still neatly tucked in its own metaphorical bed.

The furrow in your brows softened when you understood what he was trying to tell you, and you pulled the blanket tighter around the both of you.

"Very, very good idea."

Soon enough, you slipped back into colorful dreams, safely tucked against Bruce's chest.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

A strange feeling that settled in Bruce's bones is what woke him up. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling by all means, it was just... odd. A peculiar buzz in his skull, that slowly trickled down into his spine. It was euphoric almost, making him hazy about his surroundings but too aware of every nerve in his body.

His shirt was soft, too soft, and the buttons on the pillowcase dug uncomfortably into his ribcage. The sliver of sun that managed to sneak its way through the thick curtains fell directly on his face.

His nose scrunched up as the blinding light slowly burned his eyes. Yet the warming and comforting feeling on his cheeks made him stay in place, taking in the new day instead of pulling the covers over his face.

He shifted slightly, shivering when a cool sensation set the nerves in his thigh on fire. The sight of your hand, your married hand, on his leg, made a fire ignite in his stomach that was so ravenous and destructive it could've turned him to ash from the inside out.

The gleaming of your ring, the ring that he put there, made his heart rush and his cock twitch in his briefs.

"Been waiting for you to wake up." With a sweet smile playing on your lips and a certain glint in your pretty eyes that he'd seen many times before, you stroked your thumb over his skin. Your touch made his breath hitch ever so slightly, which didn't go unnoticed by you. It never did.

You were able to read Bruce like an open book, all the tricks he'd acquired over the years and used on the public to shift his image didn't work on you. They never really had, even from the beginning. For some odd reason, that he couldn't explain, you could see right through him.

"Hm, yeah? Could've just woken me up, honey. You're my wife now, after all." Bruce grinned, a strong arm sneaking around your back and pressing you flush against his chest. Your cheeks were on fire. That word still flustered you to the high heavens, and you reckoned it would for a little while.

"It would've been a shame to wake you. You looked like you were crafted by the gods." You whispered softly, pressing your lips to his in a tender but hungry kiss. Bruce melted into you, his eyes fluttering shut as he lost himself in the feeling of his lips on yours, moving gracefully against each other. With heavy breaths, puffy lips and glazed eyes you severed your connection.

"The sun sitting on your cheekbones," your fingertips traced over his face in such a gentle manner, one could assume you were afraid of breaking his peacefulness.

"And on your lips," your thumb swiped over his bottom lip, which curled up into a smile.

"Down your neck... it would've been a crime to break such beauty."

Your hand settled on the back of his neck and gently kneaded his muscles.

"I'm flattered, though no beauty can ever match yours, my love. You will eternally be the universe's rose, blooming in all your glory no matter if the sun shines or not."

"You need to stop reading all those books Alfred recommends to you." You giggled, an obvious blush on your face.

"I don't think I will." He smirked before capturing your lips in a kiss again. It was desperate and full of passion, making you sigh softly against his mouth. His hands became needy, grabbing at the fat of your hips. Bruce trailed his kisses over your cheeks, to your jaw and down your neck, sucking and gently biting at your skin.

You moaned quietly, your body sinking into the sheets at the feeling of his lips against your skin. Grabbing at the hem of his white shirt, you swiftly pulled it over his head, revealing his mouth-watering physique to you. The hand that had been resting on his thigh up until this point now cupped the tent in his briefs, stroking gently but with a firm hand.

He groaned into your shoulder, squeezing you tighter.

"None of that, baby, look at me." You cooed softly, gripping the hair at the base of his skull and gently pulling him away from your neck. Your hand dipped into his underwear and gave his cock a few strokes before shoving his briefs down his thighs.

Never breaking eye contact, you licked a fat stripe over your palm, guiding your hand down to his dick and rubbing at the tip. His lips parted slightly and few throaty groans left him.

"J-Jesus Christ, sweetheart, your hands really are magic." He breathed out, his head tipping forward just a smidge as you found a steady pace with your hand wrapped around him.

"Only for you, always for you.." you whispered against his cheek, feeling his breathing speed up. His hands were digging into your hips by this point as you circled the tip of his cock with your thumb, his pre-cum and your spit slicking him perfectly.

When you ran your finger over the underside of his shaft, against the bulging vein, pretty moans spilled from his lips as he approached his high. But before he could float on that cloud of bliss, you retracted your hand and left him hanging on the edge. His eyes were hazy and filled with need and desperation as he let out a frustrated groan.

"You're gonna regret that, little minx." Bruce smirked, but there was a fire in his eyes that made the heat in your belly boil over.

"Will I?" You challenged with a wicked smile, making him chuckle before smashing your lips together and silencing any further comment you might've made.

He pushed you onto your back and quickly pulled your nightgown over your head before sliding your panties down your legs.

Bruce's hands were placed on your inner thighs, pushing your knees further apart. He groaned at the sight of your glistening cunt, pupils swallowing the brown of his irises whole. Your naked form isn't something he hadn't seen before, but his mind was foggy with emotions of all kinds; the golden sunlight that painted your skin, the way your hair fell into your face, and that sparkly diamond on your finger making his heart swell in his chest.

You were his, through and through, and he never doubted it, but to see that solid piece of evidence sitting so nicely on your ringfinger made something stir in him; something primal, almost.

His hands trailed to your waist, kneading your flesh, as he leaned forward to be closer to you.

"I'd eat you till morning, honey, but I need to be inside you." You could tell that he was trying to hide the urgency and need in his voice, blanketing it in a soft and loving tone.

"I need you inside. Please, my love." You begged needily, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in until his dick was prodding at your entrance.

"Besides," you whispered when his head found its place in the crook of your neck,"you can always have me for breakfast later."

With an amused huff, he slowly pushed inside of you, filling you up delightfully.

"You'll be the death of me." Bruce groaned, intertwining your fingers on both hands and pressing his forehead to yours.

Your beautiful moans echoed softly in the bedroom when he started to slowly thrust his hips into yours.

The movement knocked the breath from your lungs every single time, your nerves tingling with a sizzling fire that crawled up your spine. He sped up his thrusts, moaning and groaning against your lips.

You pressed your hand against his chest to slow him down again.

"Slow, slow... wanna feel every part of you."

You could've sworn you heard the faintest whimper escape his throat, gripping your hands tighter has his cock dragged along your walls. You could feel every ridge and bump, your head lolling to the side in bliss.

With languid and deep thrusts, Bruce continued to bring the both of you to the edge of your ecstasy. As your moans got louder, you reached for the hand with his ring on it and gently placed it around your neck.

Your husband shifted his weight so he wouldn't fall on top of you, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. You placed your ringed hand on top of his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

You just wanted him to gently hold your throat, wanting to feel the cold metal against your burning skin.

"You won't hurt me, I promise. Jus' need you to hold me- fuck!" You cried out at a particularly deep thrust, squeezing your eyes shut and digging your nails into the back of Bruce's hand.

"Look at you. My pretty fucking wife. All mine. I made you mine, and everyone knows. They just need to look at that pretty diamond ring on your finger." His voice dropped an octave, and his words were almost a growl as he plunged in and out of you.

"You're s'good to me, honey. The perfect husband f'me." You moaned, your lips clumsily brushing against his as he panted on top of you.

"God, I love you." He grunted, his movement becoming sloppy as he was nearing his climax. You could feel the bliss gnawing at your limbs as well. Bruce trailed his hand between your bodies and circled your puffy clit, which only made you succumb to the pleasure faster.

"F-Fuck- oh my god, I'm so close!" You almost screeched, trying to ground yourself with him in any way you could.

"Come f'me, yeah?" He heaved, struggling to get the words out between his groans. Any more moans and cries were muffled as his lips greedily found yours, the tip of his cock hitting that spongy spot inside of you over and over again.

With a a strategic swipe over your clit and a well timed thrust, your orgasm crashed into you, jumbled 'I love you's falling from your lips as Bruce spilled inside of you with your name on his lips. The hand around your throat tightened only a little bit, prolonging your high that much longer as bliss clouded your brain.

Bruce gently lowered himself on top of you, steadying his breathing against your chest. You were catching your breath as well, tracing patterns on his bare back. He was still nestled deep inside of you. He rolled the two of you over so you were on top of him, your cheek pressed against his shoulder as you relaxed in his arms.

"I love you so much." You mumbled, eyes falling shut. You didn't know what time it was, but it didn't matter to you. You had nowhere to be except right here, snuggled against your husband.

"I love you too, sweetheart. Are you alright? D'you need anything?" he asked softly, pressing kisses to the top of your head.

"Hm, no. Jus' wanna stay like this. Maybe take a nap." You yawned, making Bruce chuckle.

"Do you need anything?" You questioned in return, placing a kiss to

his shoulder. "I could use a nap as well." He laughed softly, pulling the covers over the both of you.

"Good. Cus' I'm not getting up." You sighed, letting yourself be loved by him. His hands lazily ran through your hair, lulling you to sleep.

"Sweet dreams, baby." He whispered against your hairline, coaxing a sleepy smile onto your lips.

"You too, my love."

Both of you drifted off with the sun high up in the sky, not a care in the world that it was well past noon. Your hearts beating in sync, your soft breathing mimicking each other and connected deeper and closer as ever, the bonds of your love shinning in the dwindling sunlight with your hands intertwined.

If Bruce could make you wear his heart, he would, but for now the diamond ring would have to do.

You were his and he was yours. The perfect balance of love.

🍾●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●🌼●●●●●●●●●●●●●●🍾

《Taglist》: @certifiedredhoodlover @allysunny

Let me know if you want to be added! <3

[suzdin]

Neighborly Affairs

Neighbor!Dave x f!reader

Summary: Dave helps you make some daiquiris for the neighborhood cookout

Word Count: 1,149

Warnings/Triggers: 18+ mdni, nipple play, sex in a kitchen, agoraphillia/sex with the risk of being caught, infidelity, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, creampie, possessive marking/branding, cum play, mentions/usage of alcohol

Notes: I apologize to everyone who’s been waiting for updates from me for months now. I haven’t forgotten. My brain fog has been nasty, making it difficult to just be conscious most days, let alone actually think and function. I’m slowly getting better and I’m hoping that by actually writing/posting something, it will motivate me to finish my WIPs.

Sorry if it sucks, but I tried.

Thank you and I love you. 💕

—

His hands are under your bra, tweaking your puckered nipples with the same amount of care as fine tuning an instrument, flattening and rolling the pert buds between the pads of his fingers.

He groans in your ear when you arch against him, his burgeoning erection pressed between your ass cheeks, grinding you in slow, deliberate strokes.

You had volunteered to make a fresh batch of daiquiris for the cookout only a few moments before, with barely enough time to gather the materials before Dave was on top of you like a moth to a flame.

“What if Carol catches us?” you murmur under your breath, your eyes flitting anxiously to the French doors that lead out to the backyard, not even ten paces from where Dave has you pinned against the kitchen island.

“Then she can watch,” he growls in your ear, quickly extricating his right hand from your bra to snake down your torso, slipping into the front of your shorts.

His fingers tease along your slick, puffy folds, making you arch even more, your ass grinding instinctively against him.

“So wet for me already,” he croons, his warm breath ghosting over your skin, “You want me inside you, don’t you?”

Before you can answer, his index and middle fingers circle your engorged clit, touching you in all the ways he knows drives you wild, causing your hips to jerk, and a sound that roughly resembles a yes to escape your lungs.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispers. “Dirty girl, wanting me to fuck her in the neighbor’s kitchen…”

The barriers of clothing between your bodies are swiftly tugged to the side, Dave’s dark gaze shifting briefly to the festivities in the backyard to make sure you’re still in the clear.

He lines himself up with your entrance, coating the head of his cock in your slick before slowly sheathing himself inside of you.

“I should fuck you with others around more often. You’re so fucking tight right now, sweetheart,” he purrs against your skin.

He sinks himself to the hilt, relishing the feel of you for a beat before pulling almost all the way out, proceeded by a fierce snap of the hips, thrusting you against the countertop with such fervor, such tenacity, you nearly topple over the bottle of rum.

He repeats the maneuver several more times before setting a steady, but still hurried, pace, his palm over your mouth, ensuring he’s the only one that gets to hear you like this.

If you could see yourself right now, you would see how fucked out and delirious you are already. Your eyes glistening, a thin layer of sweat prickling your skin.

His opposite hand grasps your hip in a nearly bruising hold, keeping your body flush against his as he continues to drive himself into you, the sounds of skin smacking skin filling the small kitchen.

“So good. So good for me. Like you were made for me, taking my cock like a champ,” he praises, his lips pressed to your ear.

He plants a trail of reverent kisses down your throat, beginning with the soft apex where it joins your neck, slowly making his way down.

He tugs the collar of your shirt aside, exposing the dip in your collarbone, suckling at the delicate skin there until he leaves you branded, covering it with your shirt again once he’s done, a triumphant smirk tugging at his lips.

He abruptly releases his hold on you and pulls out, gripping you by your waist to hoist you onto the counter, pushing into you once again now that you’re at the perfect height and angle.

“Oh, fuck…” you murmur when he sinks into you a second time, biting your bottom lip to prevent yourself from being too loud.

“So pretty when you bite your lip like that,” he praises, holding you in place as he begins railing into you with abandon, his lower jaw jutting forward in a silent, primitive snarl.

You bury your face against his shoulder to muffle the series of lewd noises that begin to escape of their own volition. Yet, much to your surprise, Dave’s fingers almost instantly wrap around the back of your neck, pulling your head up so he can watch you.

“No. You keep your eyes on me. I don’t care if anyone hears,” he grunts, his hand settling on your hip again.

Every stroke into you brushes that soft, spongy patch of nerves at the back of your tunnel, making your toes curl in your shoes, your fingers grabbing at his shoulders for purchase.

“I’m so close, fuck…” you pant, your forehead pressed to his as you will yourself to not look away, your eyes naturally wanting to roll back into your skull.

“That’s right. You come for me. Come all over my cock,” he growls in a low, dark timbre, his breath fanning over your lips.

A few more well placed strokes follow and then you’re seeing stars, a cry emanating from your chest, one that’s too loud for you to be comfortable, so you clamp your own hand over your mouth in an effort assuage any suspicion of what’s currently going on.

Your walls clench and convulse around him, practically choking his cock as you peak, and it isn’t much longer until he follows suit as well, releasing into you with a low, guttural growl, the feel of his seed hitting your g-spot prolonging and intensifying your orgasm.

Your bodies fall limp and listless for a moment as you twitch with the aftershocks of your individual highs, basking in the post coital glow and gradually floating back down to earth.

He eventually pulls out of you, a whine escaping your throat at how empty you suddenly feel. But he soon replaces his length with two thick fingers, swirling your entrance as he catches traces of himself before it can fall, pushing every last drop back in and then licking his fingers clean, relishing the taste of your combined fluids.

“Want you leaking me the rest of the day,” he rasps, placing a gentle kiss to the soft spot just behind your ear. His favorite.

You hurriedly pull your clothes back into place, straightening and composing yourselves just in the nick of time, your neighbor unexpectedly striding into the room.

“Sorry, it took me a minute to find the blender,” you tell them, almost bashful, hoping that your lie holds true, Dave grabbing someone else’s warm, abandoned beer off the counter behind him, acting as though he’s been drinking it this entire time.

When the neighbor eventually wanders back out, Dave discards the beer and places a soft kiss to your lips this time.

“Better hurry up with those daiquiris. People are waiting, you know,” he remarks with a wry smirk, leaving you alone as he rejoins the others, your lingering scent still on his skin and clothes.

[dabisqueen]

virgin call

Incubus!Dabi x fem!Reader

⇢ word count: roughly 5.7K

⇢ plot: unknowingly, you summon an Incubus. Just smut, no plot.

⇢ warnings: 18+, minors DNI, the reader is a bit under the influence of incubus aphrodisiacs, oral (m receiving), throat bulge, deep throatpie, oral (f receiving), size kink, belly bulge, cum kink, breeding (kink), loss of virginity, mentions of blood, kind of consensual unprotected sex (maybe dubcon)  an*l sex, overstimulation, multiple creampies, double-dick

⇢ personal note: it just came over me because an anon mentioned this… thank you! Submitted to the "ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔣𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔰" collab by @/nymphoheretic

Thanks to @/blankexpressions-and-falsefires for being my beta again– you're my writing-soulmate! 😘

Your attempt at conjuring a spirit went– let's just say, it was pretty unspectacular. After having set up everything, and singing the summoning chant—

—nothing happened. 

So here you find yourself kneeling on the floor, trying to scratch the spilled wax off the cheap linoleum tiles with your chalk and salt-stained fingers. The only thing spectacular about this summoning is the mess it had produced.

If only you had summoned a cleaning spirit.

You sigh. It is just another sign pointing to your miserable life. This project has been a disaster– like everything else in your life. You have no friends, can't keep a single plant alive in your apartment, only have a low-paying job as a cashier and—

—you're still a virgin at age 22. 

So much for not being pathetic. 

You exhale in frustration, finally managing to clean up everything and pull the faded rug back into its place.

After disposing of the remnants of your failed invocation, you take a quick shower and go to bed. Turning off the light of the crooked bedside lamp, you sink your head onto your pillow and close your eyes.

So precious. I want to make you mine.

You sit up in bed, taking several heaving breaths, sleep still fogging your brain as the echoes of that voice continue to linger in your ears. Confusion washes over you as you come to realize that it's night and you are in your room, having just woken from a dream.

So sweet—

That low sultry voice speaks again, close to your ear– and you jolt. You swear you can feel the warmth of a breath on your skin. You spin, panic rising in your stomach. Yet, as you look around you, the full moon outside only casts its dim light on the scarce pieces of furniture that you own. 

There is no one in the room with you and no evidence that there ever has been. Still, you swear you heard a voice. After your beating heart calms down again, you convince yourself that it was just a vivid illusion, caused by your earlier attempts at spiritualism. You lay down, tucking yourself in again for the night, until sleep finally takes over.

It starts like feathers on your skin, traveling up your exposed arms, your inner thighs. It makes you squirm in your sheets when more of them trail up your naked stomach, tracing the fullness of your breasts before grazing your hardening nipples. They feel like fingers, dozens of them, sliding over your body, making you squirm in your bed, an unknown heat starting to settle in your core. 

The fingers are reaching for you, their tips ghosting over the skin of your naked body. These sensations take over your mind when they start running over the points of your body that are most sensitive, concentrating their effort on heightening your growing pleasure. You feel wetness pool in your underwear, dripping down your thighs. 

You can barely process these sensations, your mind lagging, clouded. All these fingers on your skin– you are overwhelmed by how good it feels, each touch more intense than the next. They graze over your nipples again, perking them into sensitive little nubs while you get wetter and wetter. It is so much that the pleasure converges, sparks starting to ignite in your core. 

The fingers continue to touch — so eager on your skin, heightening every little jolt of pleasure. A little shock runs down your spine and you whimper. This feels too real as if it isn't a dream at all. You are so close. If only a few more minutes—

Do you want to cum?

The voice is there again. Too taken up by pleasure, your mind is starting to float somewhere above your body, far away. You writhe and gasp between moans, “Yes.”

The voice chuckles. The fingers intensify their ministrations and you arch. 

What will you do for me to fulfill this wish?

You are succumbing to a fog of heavy desire. Before your pleasure peaks into a white-hot light, you scream, “Everything!”

You wake up, a thin sheen of sweat covering your body, the afterglow of your orgasm still rippling through you, making your soaked pussy throb. Your heart is pounding loudly in your ears

Yet, not solely from the pleasure– it's also from the feeling that something is off.

A dark, silky voice breaks through the darkness– the same voice that spoke to you in your dreams.

"Did you enjoy that?"

Your eyes widen, the mental fog clinging to you slowly dissipating. As they adjust to the darkness, you see him standing at the side of your bed. He is strikingly handsome, sensually carnal. His great black wings unfurl and span the width of your small apartment. Patches of gnarled purple skin adorning his face and body are complemented in color by horns protruding from the top of his head, nestled amidst inky black windstrewn hair.

But his most breathtaking feature isn't the wings or the horns. It is his piercing blue eyes that seem to glow in the darkness. The intensity of his gaze sends a shiver up your spine. That and the fact that he is–

–completely and shockingly naked.

Your gaze drops instantly, yet not without having peeked at his massive flaccid cock, hanging heavy and thick between his thighs.

He tilts his head down at you imperiously, his lips upturning in a mockery of a smile. "Like what you see?"

You gasp and blink, trying to ignore the rising blush on your face. He steps closer, smirking down at you, looking every bit sinful. He radiates such sexual confidence that it has you taking shallow breaths, chills of pleasure arise in your body as wetness resumes pooling in your underwear. 

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you try to ignore your body's reaction, mumbling dazedly. "Who are you?"

He tilts his head, drawing attention to the set of horns on his head. You stare as piercing blue eyes take you in. "You summoned me, sweetheart. You should know."

His seductive, low voice surrounds you, floats through you, and seeps into your brain.

"I w-what?" You ask, dumbly. 

He just smirks. It takes you a moment to realize what he is saying. But then it hit you.

The conjuring.

"I didn't think that—" Blinking slowly, you stare at him. "I mean, I wanted to summon a spirit— not a demon."

“You don’t even know what you’ve invoked, do you, little human?” He purrs, his husky voice so pleasing to hear.

“N-no,” you admit.

He moves faster than you anticipate, the mattress dipping under his weight as he suddenly hovers above you. 

"Sweetheart, when a virgin is calling a spirit, you know there's only one creature answering her calls." His face aligns beside yours, his lips brushing the rim of your ear as he whispers, "An incubus."

Your heart races a million miles a minute as you clench your thighs to suppress the throb between them.

"And now that I am here," he straightens up and grins down at you devilishly, "I'll have you take responsibility for stirring up a thirsty one."

The way his voice sounds through you causes your core to pound with pleasure. Goosebumps rise on your skin and even more wetness pools in your panties. A sinful moan rips from your mouth as he chuckles, low and seductive. 

“What is happening to me?” You ask.

“You're in the presence of an incubus. Your body is reacting–" He tilts his head, deep azure irises tracing the features of your face. “Cause it knows it's mine."

“It's– I'm not…" you whisper, clenching your thighs in an attempt to keep the heat at bay.

"Aw, little thing," A low chuckle rumbles through his chest. "There's nothing you can do about it.”

You slowly scramble backward in an attempt to get away from him– until suddenly you can't go any further and your back is pressed against the headboard. 

His smirk never breaks as the demon moves, one large, claw-tipped hand closing in on you. You inhale sharply as it hooks under the seam of your shirt, pulling it down and taut– before you hear the fabric rip. His claws keep slicing your shirt to pieces across your front, making your breasts spill out.

"You will only come for me," he muses, "on my cock, from now on."

Oh god… 

You have no thoughts, the chill of the cool air drifting over your skin making your nipples bud up. You suck in a sharp breath, another surge of heat rippling through your body.

"I fulfilled my part of the bargain, now it's your turn—” his eyes rake down your body like a caress, stopping at the point where your legs converge. "You will be bred, filled with my seed."

Despite the ominous threat, you can't help a moan from bubbling up your throat, your pussy throbbing at his words. 

“I-I don't want that!” You stammer, swallowing thickly.

“Oh doll, your body is telling me otherwise.” he chuckles, deep blue eyes twinkling. “You're aroused just by the thought of it. I can smell your slick, feel the heat of your cunt.”

Oh boy is he right.

He moves close and, looking down at you, leans forward, one hand supporting his weight on the side of your body while the other traps your jaw underneath his clawed fingers, propping it up, forcing you to make eye contact with him. The sharp horns crowning his head loom over you and block out the dim light of the moon, making the demon's eyes gleam. 

"You will beg–" You can see his azure irises swirl, drawing you in, "–beg me to fill you up, over and over again."

At his words, the ache in your core grows even more intense. Your pussy pulses with desire, releasing another surge of slick. You feel it dripping out and down your ass while he chuckles deeply.

"N-No—" You lie– obviously.

An unreadable expression crosses his face, then he gives you a wicked smirk before he dips down, hovering his mouth over yours.

"Oh, you will…" You can feel his hot breath fanning your lips, seeping into your lungs like an aphrodisiac.

You inhale deeply, his scent intoxicating. It has your blood buzzing in your veins and brings a pleasurable fog rolling into your head until it spins. Your pupils start to dilate, the heat inside your core burns unlike anything you have ever felt before and a deep moan erupts from you. Totally delirious, you can't stop the drool from spilling past the corners of your mouth, your core getting wetter by the second. 

You realize that you want this– you want this so badly. His presence, his scent, his voice… all about him just makes you feel pleasure– yet you want to feel more than that. You want to feel everything. It's then you know that he owns you.

“Please…" you moan.

"Please what?" Knowingly, his soft lips brush yours, sending fiery-hot sparks through your body.

"Please pleasure me." You sob, desperately.

He sits back on his heels, smirking, the cock between his thighs now fully erect. You blink as you stare at it. It is huge, the thick crown of it a reddish hint, leaking so much precum, it trickles down its underside, dripping onto the sheets.

“Come here.” He crooks his fingers.

Part of you wants to fight it– the pull you feel toward him. But your body reacts on its own, crawling –no– gravitating toward him without conscious thought. He palms the erection standing proud and stiff between his legs while watching you from above, eyes heavy with lust. His free hand rises to wrap around your throat. 

“Open.” He demands, the other hand holding the base of his thick cock.

Obediently, you open your mouth, sticking out your tongue. The head of his cock, hot and heavy, slips between your lips and sits thick on your wet muscle. 

“Close.” He growls and you do, wrapping your lips around him. 

The incubus' scent is intoxicating down here, the taste of his precum delicious and salty. Without conscious thought, your eyes flutter shut as your tongue swirls around his cockhead, greedily dipping into the slit. 

The demon grits his teeth, baring his canines. His hands go to the sides of your head, long fingers tangling into your hair to shove you down his shaft. A whine rips from your throat and you gag the first time his cock touches the back of your throat.

“Suck it,” he commands, tilting his head.

You raise your hazy eyes, misted by tears, to see the demon staring down at you with hungry eyes while his hips start to move forward and back slowly, restlessly.

He's gentle, yet commanding and you love it. You've never felt so wanted or needed. With your lips coated in a mixture of precum and spit, he starts thrusting forward harder now, his clawed hands holding you in place. Each time you sink even further down on his cock, swallowing every inch that fits into you. 

He goes deeper with each thrust, making sure his size hits the back of your throat every time. And even though you're being painfully stretched, all you feel is pleasure, delicious and intense, and a pooling between your legs. Still, the incubus gazes down at you with a frown, despite your best efforts.

“You can do better,” he coaxes. "Relax."

With that, he bucks his hips forward, holding them there, as you gag and sputter around his length. His grip on your hair tightens, and with a final desperate breath of air, you relax your jaw and his cock slips into your throat with ease.

“Such a good girl,” the demon purrs as your nose grazes the unruly patch of hair at the base of his cock, your throat bulging.

Tears spill down your cheeks as he starts moving again, the wet slap of his constant thrusting filling the otherwise quiet room. 

With his slow yet steady rhythm, you get used to his length sliding into you, learning how to breathe despite his intrusion. 

“You’re taking me so well.” His brilliant turquoise eyes gaze down at you, your throat tightening around him at his praise.

Your lips stretch around the thick girth of his cock while warm spit dribbles from your mouth and covers your chin, building a sticky mess at the base of his cock. Your fingers grasp uselessly at his thigh while he uses you to chase his high. In that moment, he, his scent, and his heat become your very essence.

Looking up at him from beneath wet lashes, you distantly feel his thrusts becoming more erratic, turning into a rough grinding in your mouth, when he orders. “Now, swallow.” 

It takes one, two thrusts before he stills, the obscene bulge in your throat proof of how deep he is buried inside of you. You don't taste it, just feel him spill his hot seed down your throat. His cock continues to twitch, unloading into you, filling your belly until you feel it stretch obscenely.

“Take it like the good girl you are," he purrs, "Take all of my cock.”

You obediently do, struggling not to gag around him, trying to take short shallow breaths through your nose.

Eventually, his cock slides heavily out of you, leaving a glistening string of saliva and cum connecting you. Sputtering and coughing, you try to catch your breath. The demon looks at you before one hand comes up to cradle your head, the other brushing soothingly over your hair. “You've done so well for me, little human.”

His thumb trails over your chin, wiping the drool off before he dips down, kissing your cheeks, lapping up all the salty tears that wet your face.

"Ah– virgin tears are so delicious," the incubus croons. 

You let out a soft sob, leaning into his touch before he retreats, taking you in with glowing blue eyes and you shiver at the hunger you see in them.

Without warning, his mouth crashes on yours, hungry and demanding. He knows what he's doing– devouring your lips– and you can't help but moan, making his hot wet tongue slip into your mouth. The fire in you keeps burning as you lean into him, his lips dancing against yours. One hand raises to the side of your face, his fingers curl into your hair, angling your face to meld your lips deeper against his. He kisses with so much fervor now that he almost consumes you. You shudder against his kiss, your mind heavily clouded and you moan into his mouth, making him groan. He releases you, pulling back.

“Fuck, you’re too delicious." His eyes glow bright, filled with lust. "Now, it's time to fill you up, my little human." 

His palm lays flat on your chest and he pushes you back until you drop on the mattress. He eyes your heaving breasts hungrily before leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly, then soothing over it with his tongue. 

“Oh God,” You let out a choked breath, half delirious.

"You can just call me Dabi." The demon chuckles against your skin, his scorching tongue swirling around your nub.

He casts you a darkly amused look and continues his ministrations until you are a writhing mess underneath him. Slithering down your body, his large hands grip your thighs and shove them further apart. He nuzzles your inner thighs, closing his eyes to inhale the scent of your arousal.

“Doll, who knew– you're at your peak.” His dark eyes rise to your face and he gives you a sharp smile. “My seed is gonna take perfectly.”

You pant heavily as he hooks a claw through the top of your panties and, pulling down,  slices the fabric open, his eyes drifting to your exposed cunt. Dabi licks his lips and with a pleased purr, he bends his head, sliding his raspy tongue along your folds. It's hot and wet, as he gathers your slick on it, tasting your reaction to him before he fastens his mouth over it to suck at your soaked pussy.

You nearly keen off the bed, mouth falling open in a gasp of shocked pleasure, writhing in his firm grip. Dabi keeps tasting you, licking from the source of your heat all the way up to your clit, sucking your tender bud into his mouth as you squirm on the bed. 

You whimper and squeeze your eyes shut– but all of a sudden, the sensation is gone, replaced by a sharp sting as Dabi spanks your clit. 

“Eyes on me, doll,” the demon growls, baring his teeth.

Your eyes instantly shoot open, not wanting to disappoint– and a satisfied smirk spreads across his face.

"Good girl," he intones huskily, running his hand soothingly over your hips.

His voice is lust-saturated, sending hot arousal pooling in your gut, making your body thrum with need. It is a feeling you've never felt before. His eyes never leave yours as he drags the flat of his tongue up and down your core before nibbling and sucking at your over-sensitive nub. His palms trail up your sides to cup your breasts, squeezing them, like he's anchoring himself. Taking your nipples between his claw-tipped fingers, he rolls them between them, as he starts alternating between sucking and lapping at your swollen clit. 

You are so overstimulated, the pleasure you feel a mix of ecstasy and agony. You sob and beg– yet your pleas go ignored. Dabi continues eating you out, sending desire running down your spine and pooling in your core. You start bucking into his face, needing more of this. Then a white heat flares up in your core and your thoughts are cut off by the force of your orgasm. You can't stop your eyes from rolling to the back of your skull, your mouth hanging open in a silent moan as the blinding pleasure rips through your body like lightning. The incubus pulls back to look down at the mess he made of you, how you lay below him, your body slick with sweat. Pleasure still rolls through your limbs, fogging your brain and vision and you barely register the demon as he hovers above you, 

"I'm gonna fuck you until my cock is the only thing you can think of." His words send shivers up your spine.

You can't suppress it, your body wants just one thing– him. Your legs fall open, sinfully, and he slowly slots his body between your thighs, a claw-tipped hand running affectionately over your hair. He dips down, eagerly latching his lips on the pulsating vein on your neck, and pleasure floods your limbs, making it seep out of you. You feel his warmth pressed against you as he starts to gather your essence on his shaft. He grinds his hard dick against your swollen folds, mixing it with the copious amounts of precum that leak from his tip. 

“This pussy– this body– they are mine,” he growls against your skin. "I'm gonna breed you now, claim you as mine." 

"Dabi, please—" you sob, writhing in heat below him., "I-I can't."

"Yes, you can, my little human," he looks down at you with cerulean-colored eyes, "And you will."

A moan breaks from your lips, becomes a shudder as the pleasure intensifies with him thrusting along your folds now, spreading precum all over you. The endorphins flooding your system heighten your desires, overwhelming your doubts, and the urge to have his massive cock deep inside you becomes unbearable. 

As if he can read your mind, he purrs, lazily, “Want my cock?”

"Yes please–" you whine, needily. 

"How badly?" His voice is seductive, low, and husky.

"I need it!" It feels like you're burning up inside.

You gasp heavily when his hands sneak around your hips, pulling you up to align his throbbing cock at your entrance.

Dabi's smoldering blue eyes snap up to meet yours. "Are you ready to be bred?"

Part of you still screams no, yet your body desires otherwise. Your core is dripping, the sheets below you soaked. Your skin is hot, sweaty, and sensitive– and it feels like molten lava flows through your veins. You need him inside of you. It feels like a deeply seeded instinct to have this man– this demon– fill you up. Through teary eyes, you look at him. Dabi is so incredibly breathtaking– his chiseled features and captivating aura, his piercing blue eyes that are trained on you. 

"Please, fuck me." You sob deliriously. "Fill me up."

"Good girl." The demon chuckles, his posture dominating as he begins pushing his hips forward.

The bulbous head of his dick presses against your passage before it pops in. You cry out, the stretch of his girth immense. Dabi quickly hits resistance but with another quick roll of his hips, it gives. Your cries turn into desperate moans as the demon keeps shoving himself further inside, slowly disappearing inside of you, inch by inch. His massive cock spreads you apart, forcing your walls outward. The stretch feels amazing and you can't stop yourself from succumbing to the intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure all in one. The second he bottoms out, you almost pass out.

"Ah– virgin pussy is simply the best," he groans, watching how your eyes roll back, his cock outlined in your tummy as your pussy keeps quivering around him.  

After a few much-needed moments for you to adjust to his size, he pulls out. He looks down watching how his cock comes out, covered in your slick mixed with the color of crimson. Nudging the tip at your entrance, he spears into you with one swift thrust and you cry out again. The sudden sensation of being filled sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body. He’s so big, so long and thick– the feeling so intense. The demon smirks at your reaction and starts to thrust into you now, drawing sweet cries of pleasure from your mouth as you writhe beneath him. 

“Such a fine cunt.” he inhales a sharp breath from between gritted teeth. “All mine.”

Your pussy is dripping onto his dick, lubricating it as he fucks you– hard, deep strokes that bring you closer and closer. You keep tightening up around him with each move, pleasure and pain wrecking your body and mind. 

Dabi’s face moves close to yours, as he stares at you with lust and hunger, a predatory smirk on his lips that makes your belly churn. Every thrust is so delicious, amazing. You want more. Your incubus keeps whispering dirty nothings about breeding you, punctuating his words with powerful thrusts, all while his essence keeps sloshing around in your belly. 

It's so obscene—

—yet so good.

He’s still sneering down at you when the tension builds up so high that you can’t take it anymore. It bursts, sending waves of pleasure shooting through you. Dabi continues to pound into you, your eyes rolling back, your walls clenching up around his cock again.

The incubus hisses, feeling you tighten around him. He keeps pleasuring your puffy cunt, balls slapping against your butt every time he sinks in, impossibly deep. The grip on your hips tightens, sharp claws digging into your flesh, piercing through skin until small drops of blood appear. But you're too out of it to feel pain– you just feel bliss.

Lifting your ass, his cock starts stroking along a spot inside of you that has your vision turn white. Dabi seems delirious as he stares down at where you both are connected. The wet sounds of him drilling into your pussy fill the room as he keeps impaling you on his cock over and over again. The little brain you have left working properly knows you’re a mess below him— drool running down your cheeks, tears cascading down your temples, dampening the pillow beneath you. And yet here he is, smirking down at you with no sign of exhaustion at all. It's quite the opposite to you– he seems to glow, a blue aura surrounding him that seems to flicker around his body and wings like caressing flames.

His hands slide to your thighs, pushing your legs back against your shoulders. You feel him slide his cock insanely deep, deeper than before– in a way that didn't seem possible. Each stroke into your convulsing hole is more intense, pouring more overwhelming sensations into your body. You’re moaning obscenely, with your insides stuffed impossibly full. 

"I'm going to cum, precious." He warns. "Gonna fill you up. Are you ready?"

"Yes!" You moan needily.

"Yes, what?" He asks again.

"Come inside of me," you gasp for breath, struggling to think clearly, "Fill me up and breed me!"

"Good girl." He growls sensuously, sultry and low. "Gonna fuck my seed into you—"

He thrusts deeply one more time, and you shatter into a million pieces. Your pussy clamps down on his length almost painfully, milking him, and the incubus hisses. His wings extend fully, spanning the width of your small apartment bedroom as he throws his head back in ecstasy. His cock seems to swell before he releases rope after rope of his thick hot cum into your waiting womb. 

"Ah yes," he groans. "Take it all— carry my offspring."

You hear his words but they're drowned by your pleasure, unable to comprehend the consequences of them. You are too far gone, head lolling and drool dripping from your mouth. Dabi stays buried inside you, copious amounts of cum pooling out at the base of his cock. The blue glow emanating from his body intensifies from all of the energy he's drained from you. You feel him, still hard, still ready for more and it sends sparks shooting in your brain.

"That's gotta do it," your incubus leans down to whisper against your ear, "But better to be safe than sorry, right?"

And with that, Dabi grabs you by your hips and flips you over. One hand clutches your neck to press your head into the sheets, the other lifts your ass up. Between one heartbeat and the next, he is looming over you. In your lust-fogged mind, you feel the heat of not just one but two dicks as he rubs them along your seam, coating himself in the ample mixture of your slick and his release. 

"W-what…" you murmur, exhausted, face half buried in your sheets.

"Didn't know incubi could change form, huh?" He intones and you feel the pressure at your holes increase.

"Dabi—" you whine and try to wiggle your ass away from him. "It won't fit—"

He grips your hips, holding you in place, dwarfing you in your attempt to get away from him. Your breathing stutters as you tense up.

"Shh, doll, it's ok," Dabi soothes in his deep voice. It causes your pussy to quiver in anticipation despite the fear lacing your mind.

He dives forward, his canines grazing against the supple skin of your neck before he shifts closer to your ear and whispers, "Relax and give yourself to me."

At his words, you allow yourself to loosen up and he begins to press himself against you in earnest. With a grunt, he breaches your virgin asshole while his lower cock slides into your gaping pussy. You cry out in an exquisite mix of pleasure and pain and your hips flex in his hold. He holds you there, keeps you stretched around the fattest part of his cockhead, while you bite into your bedsheets, tears breaching your lash line. 

Slowly, you get used to the stretch and the pain gradually changes into something else, something more pleasurable. Then, with one swift thrust, he drives himself fully into you, sheathing his two cocks into you at once. It sends tremors throughout your body before another rush of endorphins hits you like a wave. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before, and you moan his name as he withdraws and pushes into you again. 

Dabi sets a demanding pace, and all you can do is fist the sheets as he rides you, pumping both dicks into you with vigor. The way he fills you feels obscene, his two cocks hitting you so deep. He's hitting spots that feel more amazing than anything you've felt before. You can feel the pressure building inside you and arch, pushing back into him. His pace quickens, and he fucks you with such force the bed creaks. This would normally concern you– if your brain were properly functioning.  

"Your holes feel so perfect, little one," he groans, as he pulls out and drives into you again, hard, turning your whimpers into broken moans. "The best ones I've ever had–"

Your brain is shut down, little hiccups escaping you as your body moves solely on instinct. On lust. Another gush of slickness gets you even wetter, the messy slick sounds of your holes sucking him in echoing through the room. His hands close in on your neck, pressing you down as he pumps into you, your ass clenching around him as your pussy tightens around his cock. Your cheeks burn, your mouth opens in a silent moan and in the back of your head, you feel a powerful orgasm building.

"I'm gonna cum, doll." Dabi groans.

He lightly circles your swollen clit with the tip of his clawed finger, pushing you beyond a point you've never been before. With his next thrust, you feel your core convulse with a force unbeknown to you. Your mouth opens in a silent cry, no longer able to speak as the pressure throbbing between your legs releases and you feel yourself come undone. Clear liquid gushes from your core and drips onto the sheets below. Dabi lets out a low growl when he reaches his climax, driving himself in to the hilt, pumping his cum into your pussy and asshole. Your belly starts pudging outwards as his burning hot release floods your insides and you topple over the edge yet again, your holes milking his cocks for all their seed. His pace staggers and slows until eventually, he pulls out, glancing down to scrutinize the mess dripping out of your two holes onto the drenched mess of your bed sheets.

"I have to admit," he pants, the corners of his lips quirking up, "You're the best I've ever had."

He finalizes his statement with another solid plow forward. 

For the rest of the night, the incubus plays with your body, making you cum until you lose count of how many times he shattered your world. Your holes are left creamy and white from every load he unleashes into you. Your eyes are stuck permanently in the back of your head from the constant pleasure wrecking your body. Your brain is non-functional, and your body is completely and utterly overwhelmed by the sheer number of times you came. The sun is just beginning to rise when he finally retreats and you slump bonelessly onto the bed, your entire body aching. The sheets beneath you are drenched with your sweat and your combined release. Dabi watches you intently, alternating between stroking your hair and your cheek. His wings come to shelter your body, their warm leathery skin gently caressing your form. 

"You did well for me, little one." Leaning over you, his lips brush your ear as he croons seductively into your ear, "I think, I will take you with me. I sense that my seed has taken and I can’t bear to part with such a perfect little human."

You should be upset over these final words, retaliate against their implications. Yet all you feel is drowsiness and absolute bliss. Being filled with his warm essence, your lips pull up into a soft, satisfied smile and your eyes slip closed, exhaustion finally taking over.

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

[inklore]

• “if you keep looking at me like that, i'm not responsible for what happens next." For Jordan (genV)

KEEP FOCUSED.

pairing: jordan li x (f)reader

contents: established relationship, insinuated-ish smut, you can imagine whichever presenting gender but i had their fem form in mind | wc: 703

The plan was to study. 

“Strength isn’t the only thing you need; you need intelligence. Knowledge.” Brink had said. Had made it more than clear that rankings got you somewhere, but for those who didn’t make it to the seven, passing a test was dire. 

Hence, studying was important.

Even if one of you ended up watching over some city, you couldn’t do that with powers alone. Not all the time. 

No matter how much you hated studying, no matter how many times the two of you vouched to study, that’s all, and it heading south within the first hour. 

The two of you had made it two hours now, passing index cards back and forth to write, cross stuff out, add things, and prepare to quiz each other later. It was a new record, really.

For how long neither of you made a move. 

With the restraint you showed each time their fingers brushed against yours when passing the cards to and fro. It was a superpower in its own how you’d strained your eyes to focus on the book in your lap and the laptop at your hip resting on their bed, where the two of you were perched. 

Your bottom lip indented by your teeth, showing how hard restraint was. How your top teeth sunk into the flesh of your lip every time you looked up from your textbook to stare at them. To watch them twiddle the pen in their fingers or press the nail of their thumb against their mouth in deep thought.

And that fucking gray shirt. The shirt that had no sleeves, no sides. The one that gave you the perfect view of their chest when they turned and leaned over the bed to grab their drink off their nightstand. 

The hard swallow that physically ached your throat from stopping yourself from tossing your books to the side, climbing on top of them, and pressing your mouth to the flesh peeking out of it.

You wonder if they wore it on purpose. As a tease. To distract you from the task at hand, a little jest they could poke at you later when one of you passed the test and the other just barely made it.

It makes you want them more. 

“If you keep looking at me like that, I'm not responsible for what happens next." 

Their voice cuts through the cloud of arousal fogging up your brain, your eyes sweeping up to their smirking face. 

“You mean you’re not responsible for my failing grade? Don’t think Brink will understand that I couldn’t study because I was too busy thinking about making you come?”

You can see the weight of their swallow, the glint of fire in their eyes when they let out a breathy chuckle and lock eyes with you. 

“Get a passing grade, and I’ll let you make me come as much as you want.” They retort, amusement on their face. 

You can’t help your own look of amusement—a smirk pulling the corners of your lips—as you put the index cards into the spine of the book to hold your place when you close it and push it off your lap to do the same with the book in theirs. Your palms pressed into the mattress between their slightly parted legs, putting your face inches from theirs as you lean into their space. 

“We both know I suck at tests,” you let your fingers walk slowly up their thigh, elation shooting through you when you see their body lean more into your touch on instinct. “But I’m very good at making you come. So, maybe we should just stick with what I’m good at.” 

And when you press your mouth to theirs, leaving a trail of kisses and bites to their neck, all ideas of studying are out the window, and their back is pressed back against the pillows, pulling you on top of them. 

“If you fail this test, I’m not letting you put your mouth on me for a week,” they say into your mouth. A gasp followed behind it as your hand moves to the part of their body that’s begging for you. “A couple days at least,” they moan.

[rainylana]

“My angel baby, I’m here.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: eddie finds out that you self harm.

warnings: reader self harms and is severely depressed, undertones of poor eating habits but very brief, language, lots of tears, blood, angst to the max, mentions of periods.

a/n: this is the longest that i’ve posted yet since getting back into writing and i’m super happy with how it turned out! it is a sensitive topic so it won’t be for everyone. this is dedicated to all the ones who can relate to this fic. i hope you all have an eddie in times when it gets too much. please let me know what you think. it means the world and more than you can imagine.

You knew that what you did was not healthy. You knew it was sick and messed up. You knew that if anyone found out, they’d think that you were insane. The scars you gave yourself had no real reason to be there. You blamed yourself for that. You didn’t know how to deal with your issues any other way. The moment you were alone you’d drift off to the bathroom, turn the shower on and begin your twisted ritual of self abrasions.

Life for you was difficult, but still, marking your self up was no excuse. You had tried to quiet, of course. Many times you had, but it was a habit you could not break. You were too used to doing it. It was an everyday thing. It was like breathing. You breath to live. You can’t not just breath. So for you, cutting yourself was like breathing. You didn’t think you could stop. It helped you deal with your pain.

If you’d have known what the evening was going to hold for you, you would have slit your throat the moment you woke up.

Darkness clouded your mind. Sitting in class, the fog you knew well was storming your brain cells, making everything else fuzzy and hard to understand. Everyone looked blurry, their faces funny and distorted. They sounded odd. Your heart ached and sunk into the pit of your stomach like it always did. You had no way of explaining what this feeling was and what it meant, but you didn’t like it at all. Once it got you, it had you.

You didn’t try to share any of this with Eddie. You didn’t want him to know how much you struggled. Scaring him away was your worst fear. It was why you never let him see the tops of your thighs. Sex was always under the covers. Lights off. Eddie didn’t complain of course. To him, sex was sex.

And god, did you love him. You loved him with your whole heart and soul. You’d be devastated if he knew your secret. It felt awful to bare, this huge burden you carried on your shoulders. You wondered if any of your other classmates shared it too. There was a darkness in your heart that was eating you alive.

“Babe,” A warm, thick hand grabbed your shoulder, pulling you from sinking to the bottom of the pool you were drowning in.

“Huh?” You said a little louder than you’d realized, blinking rapidly as your vision spun around the room. “What?”

You turned around in your seat to find Eddie’s doe eyes narrowed. “You good?” He whispered, leaning closer. “You’ve been staring at the floor for fifteen minutes.” Your class wasn’t even doing anything important. You had a sub, so everyone was doing their own studying or reading. Eddie had been talking to you until you drifted off.

“Oh, yeah.” You nodded with a swallow, grabbing his hand that still laid on your shoulder. “Sorry, Ed.”

“Just checking on my girl.” He gave you a wink that made you blush. “You coming over tonight?”

“Yeah.” You whispered with a fake smile, exhaustion taking over. He could see the way your lips had faltered. You turned back around and laid your head on your desk, arms being your pillow.

Eddie stared at you.

He might not have been the brightest bulb in the shed, but he knew you weren’t the happiest girl in the world. He knew you were sad and weren’t telling him about it. He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t going to pressure you into it, but still, he was worried about you. He wished for one night that they both could talk about you instead of his problems for a change.

Maybe tonight could be the night.

•

You must’ve gotten your period, he figured. Here it was four o’clock in the morning, and for some reason he couldn’t sleep. He had gotten up to get a glass of water but stopped when he’d seen blood seeping through the tops of your sweatpants, the blankets kicked down below your feet.

“Babe,” He said groggily, giving your shoulder a light shake. “Y/n, wake up.”

You hummed back asleep.

“Y/n, I think you got your period,” He rubbed his eyes, leaning over you to switch on the light. “You’re bleeding.”

That woke you up. “Huh?” Your eyes went wide and you sat up. “Oh,” You gasped upon seeing the red leaks of blood seeping from your sweatpants. An inhumane shock of terror left your throat and you leapt from the bed to disappear into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

Eddie, thinking it was your period, thought it was a little funny, even if he was exhausted. He got up and followed you to the door. “Baby, hey, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’ll get some new sheets from the closet, alright? It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You didn’t respond. He waited for a moment to see if you would. He even knocked a few times before giving up and switching out the sheets on the bed. In fact, he did a lot before you actually came out. He changed the bed entirely, knocking again until you muttered a shaky response that you’d be out soon. He bit his thumb nail and paced for another five minutes before he went out for a smoke. He remained seated on the bed when you finally came out.

When he saw you, he knew something was deeply wrong. Your face was white and you were visibly shaken. Your face was stained with dried tears, your eyes bloodshot. Your heart felt like it was broken. This was too close. Nobody had ever gotten this close of finding out. The idea of him knowing made you feel sick. It was your burden and yours alone. It was yours. As sick as it was, it was who you were. Who were you if you didn’t do this? You were so used to it. It was routine for you. Half of the time you did it just to….well, just to do it, to feel something. You were addicted.

“Y/n,” Eddie glanced you over. “what’s wrong? Are you alright?” He stepped toward you, grabbing your elbows lightly. “Hey,”

You sniffled and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s go to bed.” You dismissed, now wearing a pair of dark leggings.

“Wait— babe, you’re crying,” He followed you to the bed, watching as you fixed the blanket over yourself. “Are you sick?”

“No, Eddie, I’m fine.” You adjusted your pillow, your body shutting down into survival mode. You needed the situation to be dismissed, shut down. “I’m sorry about the blood, was just my period.”

He sat down on the bed by your thighs. “Don’t be sorry bout’ that, honey. Just want to make sure you’re alright. You need anything? You want some water or something?”

“Eddie, I’m okay.” You stressed, laying down and turning your back to him. “Just forget about it, please.” Your voice broke.

He absolutely did not want to forget about it, not with the way you were trying not to cry. He sat there in the same spot for almost three minutes, eyes glued to your cheek. “Y/n,” He said again. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

You groaned into the pillow. “Damnit, Eddie, lay down!”

“See, I know you,” He shook his head. “You would never be this bothered over your period. Hell, last month you chased me around with your tampon!” He said bewildered, chuckling slightly. “Something else is wrong and you’re not telling me, and when something makes my girl cry, I want to know what it is, so tell me what’s got you so worked up, huh?”

You let out a sob and curled into yourself. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. God, you were so stupid. You shouldn’t have cut so deep.

“Baby,” Eddie frowned, leaning down to lay his torso on you, his chin laying on your shoulder so he could look at you. “Did I hurt your feelings today? Did I say something?”

“No.” You cried into your pillow. “No, Eddie, it’s not you. I promise, it isn’t you.”

He thought maybe he should just drop it, let you go to sleep and maybe it would be okay in the morning, but you were still crying, little puffs and pouts here and there. He couldn’t just dismiss that.

“It’s me.” You found yourself saying, out of the blue.

“What?” He missed what you had said. “I can’t hear you, honey.” He strained his ears to hear you.

“It’s fucking me!” You sobbed into your pillow, chest heaving with a heavy breath that made him jolt. “I’m the fucking problem!”

He had no idea why you were so upset. He didn’t know what to do. He gulped harshly. “Y/n,” He cooed, shushing you gently. He scooted closer, holding you tighter to place a kiss on your temple. “I’m here, baby. Shh, shh, I’m here.”

You let go, sobbing in his arms and into your wet pillow, you broke down in sobs. Most of it was just because you were purely exhausted and you were emotionally drained, depressed. This week you were in a deeper funk than what you’ve normally been in. You hadn’t been eating properly to start. Your showers consisted of laying on the floor and imaging yourself drowning. The idea of Eddie knowing your secret made you want to die, yet you spoke anyway.

“I’m so sad.” You whimpered while Eddie rocked you in his arms, his hands stroking your hair.

He’d thought maybe you’d fallen asleep. You’d been quiet for several minutes. “Why, baby?” He kissed your shoulder.

“I don’t know,” You thought, a crinkle in your nose as you tried to reason why you felt the way you did. “Something is wrong with me, Eddie.”

You were starting to scare him. He’d never heard you talk like this before. He swallowed hard, batting his eyes across the room like his answers were a poster on the wall. “Y/n, if you tell me maybe I can help you.”

God, was help possible? Could you stop? Did you even want to? Who were you if you didn’t have that one constant in your life?

The idea brought on a wave of fresh tears, your lips turning down in a blubbering frown. “You’ll think I’m disgusting.” Your back shook against his broad, bare chest. “You won’t— you won’t ever look at me the same. You’ll think…fuck, you’ll think I’m disgusting.” You sobbed broken-hearted.

Eddie started at your face, features masked in concern. He didn’t know what to do to make you feel better, and his mind was flashing the worst things that could’ve made you so upset, his imagination getting the best of him.

“Sweetheart, I promise whatever you think I’m going to say or do isn’t true.” He leaned over to wipe a tear. “I’m going to love you no matter what you say. That’s how this works, remember? Please, baby, tell me. You’re worrying me.”

Guilt made your heart pound. You let out a long mewl, curling up like a cat so you could cry. Eddie still didn’t let you go. This was your nightmare, yet you, yourself, were making it come true.

“I didn’t get my period.” You said with wet lashes.

“What do you mean?” He narrowed his eyes down at you.

You let out a sob, holding a hand to your stomach. “I mean, I- fuck, I didn’t get my..my- period!” You hyperventilated through your breath.

“Shh, calm down, sweetheart, you don’t have to rush,” He soothed you, rubbing your arms. “Come on, sit up with me.” He gently lifted you by the torso, your hair cascading down your back. You looked like a scared little girl. Your eyes were wet and your face was soaked like you’d been laying in the rain. Eddie sighed, his mouth in a frown as he tried to help you.

“Breath, honey,” He fixed your hair, smoothing it down in rough places.

“I’m so sorry.” You whimpered, grabbing his hands tightly, squeezing them.

“Don’t be.” He shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry for, angel. Just want you to tell me what’s got you so upset. What is it that you want to tell me?” He knew whatever it was, you wanted to tell him. And deep down, you did. Maybe that was why you couldn’t shut the hell up.

“I’m so scared.” You shuttered a breath. “I’m so scared that you’ll…what you’ll think of me.”

His heart was beating loud in his chest. “You said that you didn’t get your period,” He tried to question you gently. “What does that mean?”

Did you really want to do this? Did you want to just let it all go within a blink of an eye? Truthfully, yeah. Yeah, you did. You couldn’t do it anymore. At least not alone.

You sat up slightly, fingertips grabbing the waistband of your sweats as you tugged them down to your knees. You didn’t look at him as you sank back down to sit on your ankles.

“I cut too deep.” You wept, staring down at your thighs. It was your canvas, your target area. They were scared on every inch. Some white and faded with age, some angry and red.

When Eddie saw them, it connected all dots instantly. His eyes widened in horror at your legs. They looked absolutely terrifying. He couldn’t help let out a gasp. “Oh, god, y/n,”

His large palms ghosted over them, and he leaned down so he could examine them closer. “Jesus,” His own eyes blurred with tears, his bottom lip quivering with emotion.

“I know,” You shook your head shamefully. “I know, Eddie, but I can’t help it.” You lifted your head up as you shuttered out a tearful breath. “I can’t stop no matter how hard I try. It’s the only thing that helps me.”

“God, y/n,” He traced your scars with his fingertips, jaw fallen slack in shock.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” You bawled. “I’m so…I don’t know, I’m just- just- so miserable and it’s the only thing that seems to help. I’m just so used to doing it and I don’t think I can stop!” You blubbered, snot dripping onto your cupid’s bow and dipping into your lip.

Eddie’s head snapped up. “Oh, baby, come here.” He grabbed you and pulled you into his lap. You crawled to him immediately. He cradled your back as you threw your legs around his waist, your chests flush together in a bear hug. You sobbed into his shoulder, his kisses peppering your neck. “I’m here, I’m here.” He repeated.

“My angel baby, I’m here.”

Your body wracked with moans and groans of heartbreak, but you couldn’t deny the amount of relief that left your soul. It finally wasn’t alone on your shoulders. “God, Eddie, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t.” Eddie hushed you. “You have nothing, nothing at all to be sorry about. I should be apologizing. I should have realized. I had no idea you were unhappy.”

“I’m so fucked up,” Your voice muffled against his skin. “I don’t even know why I’m sad I just- I just am! It doesn’t make any sense!”

“Stop saying that.” He held the back of your head with his palm. “How you feel is perfectly understandable. I’m glad you told me. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, okay? Baby, I’m so sorry you’ve been going through this alone, but I’m right here now, okay? I’m gonna help you through this. I’m gonna help you rise above this because you’re so strong and you don’t even realize it. But you’re my girl and I know.” He rocked you in his arms, cradled you like a baby as you cried. “I know, baby, I’m here, I’ve got you honey.”

“Please, help me.” You fisted his curls, your chest hollow, yet heavy with emotion. “I need help.”

He nodded, whispering soothing words of encouragement as he fought off a wave of tears. “You can get past this. I did.”

You pulled away, your face an absolute mess. Red, snotty and tearful. Your lips pulled down in the deepest of frowns. “Oh, Eddie,”

He turned his elbow in a 90 degree angle, and angle you’ve never exactly examined, and cried when you saw the faded white scars. You went right back to his chest, holding him like a teddy bear. “Oh, Eddie, I love you so much. I’m so sorry.”

He held you close and kissed your shoulder, allowing one singular tear to spill that you didn’t have to see. He stopped when he met you. You were his saving grace. He’d be sure and do the same for you. His angel baby.

[asvtrials]

bjorn gets possessive when someone else flirts with you!!

masterlist

Bjorn x fem! reader a/n: heyyy!! thank you to the gang for making me this gorby. Special thank you to @caileeflavoured for the extra help <3, not proofread so might have mistakes (let's hope not), sorry for taking so long with this ask <3), let's hope I'll write the series soon... warnings: established relationship, p in v, unprotected sex (don't be silly wrap your willy), choking if you squint your eyes, dry humping, namecalling, swearing

Bjorn didn't mind that you got attention, in reality, he rather enjoyed it. 

Watching idiots stare at you at the bar only for their hungry eyes to fall on his arm wrapped around your shoulder or your waist and look away in disappointment.

The instant understanding that they had no chance to get between you two was something the boy was an immediate ego boost.

But there were times when those cheeky fucks stopped being simply pathetic but turned out to be cocky instead.

When one of the nights you go out and Bjorn has his hand under the table, squeezing your thigh, laughing at a joke you just said, and suddenly one of them appears out of nowhere, asking for your name and if he can buy you a drink and all that other wacky shit.

Normally, Bjorn would've jumped the guy, but you had pleaded with him to let you handle guys like that.

So that's why decided to watch you politely tell him that you're not interested while leaning a bit closer to Bjorn. Yet that fuck refused to take the hint.

“Didn't you hear whattha lady said, you fuckin’ wanker?” Bjorn's rough voice captured the attention of the man, who turned to scowl at him.

“I think I'd understand if she wanted me to go,” The man said, glancing back at you with what you could describe as a sleazy smile.

“Are you sure? You don’ look like the brightest.” Bjorn countered but before the man could respond you cut him off firmly “I'm sorry, I'm not interested.”

The man looked between you and Bjorn before letting out a scoff and mumbling something about “not wanting you anyway.” while walking away.

Bjorn tore his gaze from the man to glance at you, a look of irritation crossing his usually playful features.

Encounters like this always left him fuming.

Coming up with some stupid excuse about him being tired, which wasn't entirely an excuse, he dragged you out of the bar after barely remembering to bid your friends goodbye.

He had one thought on his mind— to show you why you kept rejecting all of those guys.

So that's why he pressed you against a wall of his trailer as soon as you walked in, planting rough kisses on your soft lips.

“Bjorn—” you attempted to utter a sentence between his relentless attack on your lips and neck.

“I'm sorry, I'm not interested” He mocked your words from before, moving lower to your collarbone.

“I didn't mean it like that” Your words came out in ragged gasps.

“He shoulda be fuckin’ sorry he ain't the one about to fuck your brains out” He spat out, clutching at the neckline of your shirt and roughly pulling it down, showing more of your flushed skin.

He could easily just take your shirt off but the idea of pulling his lips away from you was utterly unacceptable in his lust-fogged mind.

You tried to gently push him away to take it off, worried that he's going to ruin your only clean work shirt but he quickly wrapped his fingers around your throat, pushing you against the wall even more.

“Every motherfucker thinks they can get a piece of you, stupid fucks.” He cursed against your neck, his teeth grazing your soft skin as he sucked and kissed you. “They don't even know how fucking loose you are.”

His harsh words pushed an even louder whine past your lips, his fingers pressed against your throat turned your usually silky voice, hoarse.

His other hand roamed your back before hooking his arm under your ass and lifting you up, his lips refusing to leave yours as he carried you to his bedroom.

He hastily kicked his door open and unceremoniously dropped you on his messy bed.

You quickly grabbed him by the collar, pulling him closer to you. You heard Bjorn let out a mocking chuckle before saying “Look at you, getting all hot and bothered ‘cause I called ya a slut. You like being called a slut, huh?”

“Shut up.” You warned, burying your fingers in his messy locks.

But he quickly grabbed your hands and pressed them against the hard mattress, capturing your lips in a messy kiss, determined for you to be the one begging for more, and your fingers pulling at his hair was very…distracting.

Your skin felt like it was burning, and the fabric of your shirt and pants started clinging to your sweaty skin making you whine loudly.

As if to torture you more, knowing Bjorn that was probably the case, he positioned his knee between your spread legs, pressing lightly, annoyingly light yet enough to make you gasp at the impact.

Your neglected clit rubbed against the now damp fabric of your underwear, begging for attention making you go crazy at how easy it would be for him to just reach out and rub it until you were a moaning mess.

But he didn’t, he just smirked against your mouth as he bit your bottom lip lightly.

“Bjorn, Please” You pleaded and tried to wiggle your hands free.

“‘Please’ what? Want me to take these off?” He asked with a sly smirk.

“Yes.” You replied quickly, already out of breath.

“But ya look so cute like this. And I haven't even don’ anythin’, shit.” He snickered lowly.

You were sure you looked utterly disheveled right now. Your cheeks burning with arousal, your eyes stinging with tears, and nipples poking through your shirt uncomfortably, crying out for his tongue or fingers.

You looked so fucked out already and Bjorn debated if he should continue this or fuck you right

All his thoughts disappeared when he felt you press yourself against his knee, dragging your clothed core against him with a choked moan. You threw your head back in relief as you continued your clumsy movements, mouth wide open.

“Holy shit…” Bjorn mumbled under his breath as he released your hands and leaned back, unable to tear his eyes from your blissed-out face.

“Ah, fuck! Bjorn!” You cried out and quickened your movements sloppily like you haven’t been fuck in months when the truth is you and Bjorn had been all up in each other’s business this morning before work.

You'd feel embarrassed if you saw just how dark the stain on your pants was getting but right now all you could focus on was the blinding pleasure that spread through you the faster you moved your hips against the rough fabric of his pants.

His name fell out of your lips so deliciously that Bjorn was speechless— maybe for the first time in his life as he looked at you move against him so desperately, so utterly gone. For him. You looked like a fucking wet dream.

Soon enough he snapped off his trance and leaned closer, hand coming to rest on your neck while his thumb grazed your lower lip, dragging it down slowly. “Look at ya. Bet that fuck wouldn't even try if he saw you drool like a bitch in heat fo’ me.” He whispered lowly, a hint of amusement coating his voice.

You whimpered at his words, taking his thumb in your mouth and swirling your tongue around his digit as soon as it slid past your red lips.

The whine you let out when he took his thumb out of your mouth, was enough to make his dick twitch against his boxers. You were quickly silenced when he moved his hands under your pants.

He immediately started circling your puffy clit sending a jolt of pleasure flowing through you, cries of his name left you leaving your lips.

“That's it, love. Be a good slut and cum on my knee” He praised.

Your trembling hands grasped his shoulders as your hips moved up and down feverishly until you came all over your panties with a loud yelp, hips stuttering uncontrollably against him.

Shivers ran down your spine as you tried to even your breathing, barely noticing how the boy slid your soaked pants down your shaking legs and threw them somewhere in his messy room.

You came crashing back to reality when his fingers grazed your aching core over the drenched fabric of your underwear. You twitched at the sudden jolt of pleasure and grabbed his hand with your own, feeling too sensitive.

He raised a brow “You think I brought you here to watch you hump my leg like a dog?”You meet his hungry gaze before looking down at the wet patch that you left on his pants. 

You tore your gaze away, your cheeks burning with shame as he continued “Such a fuckin’ liar, acting like ya don't wan’ me to fuck ya stupid. We both know you're gonna beg for it in a few seconds, so why don't ya just take it like a good girl?”

You swore you could come again from his words alone and he could see it. He could see the raw need that fogged your eyes and it drove him crazy.

“Ya wanna be my good girl, mhm?” He asked with a crooked smile, leaning closer to your face, letting his hand travel under your shirt to squeeze your breast.

His hand slid lower to his abdomen, freeing his throbbing cock from his pants while waiting for your mushy brain to come up with an answer.

You nodded, tongue running over your bottom lip in anticipation.

Bjorn slapped your tit at the lack of a response earning a surprised yelp “I asked ya a question, doll.”

“Yes.” You gasped, rushing to give him an answer “Want to be your good girl.”

You gasped, squeezing his biceps when you felt his tip run through your folds, collecting your juices on his tip.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” He mumbled. 

with one fast push he buried himself deep inside your inviting warmth. He paused and groaned softly, mouth agape, savoring the feeling of your walls fluttering around his length.

“Bjorn!” You moaned loudly and threw your head against the pillows, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“That's it, that's it. Say my name.” He groaned against your marked neck.

So you did, his name slipping from your lips in a loud cry after each deep thrust. He snapped his hips forcefully, the sound of skin slapping filled the loud room. The overstimulation and Bjorn’s low grunts against your ear brought you closer and closer to release. His pace grew faster, movements becoming more erratic as he chased after his release, pants and moans spilling from his plush lips with every deep thrust.

“Bjorn, I can’t—!” You managed to blurt out in between moans at the aching feeling between your shaking legs.

“Shh, I’m close baby, I’m close.” He coaxed, his relentless pounding not faltering even for a second.

Tears ran down your flushed cheeks as the overwhelming pleasure sent shivers all over your flushed body. He didn’t stop, reassuring you through your second orgasm, one that made your head spin. Your walls squeezed him so hard, tipping him over the edge right along with you. He stilled inside you, filling you up to the brim with a loud moan.

He threw his head back with a dragged out “Fuuuuck.”

Bjorn dragged himself out of your gushing insides making both of you gasp. He leaned over you, hands grasping the sheets on either side of your head.

“Who’s gon’ fuck ya like this, huh? He breathed out, with a laugh.

“You’re a dumbass.” You snickered, making the boy frown. “When have I said I want anyone else?”

He threw himself to the side, pushing his bangs out of his sweaty forehead with a cheeky smile. “How can ya after I fuck ya so bloody well?”

“Yeah, that’s the only reason.” You joked and scratched his head lovingly, messing his hair even more. But the soft way your eyes gazed into each other told a very different story.

“Well, I’m also pretty good at eating your pussy so–” He was cut off by your hand slapping his chest with a laugh.

[albatris]

hewwo

I deleted the opening of rentalcar from tumblr months ago when all the ai nonsense happened but now it's back again because I'm me. it's fresh and edited! and shorter

here's the new chapter one for your viewing pleasure. enjoy! or don't. don't let me tell you how to live your life I'm not your mum

hi taglist hello - some of you have already read this! I hope you're having a nice day though 😎

@transmasc-wizard @saturn-iidae @polyaubergine @tracle0 @goosemixtapes @valence-positive @the-one-who-makes-negative-noise @ambiguousfiction @afoolandathief @silverwarewolf @mecharose @vellichor-virgo @plasticseaslug @jetstargenderfuckery @multi-lefaiye @writeouswriter @junoshusband @writing-is-a-martial-art @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @sleepycaprine @cream-and-tea @gailynovelry @lefttigerobservation @indecentpause @writingsfromspace @carnivalls @violetfoxsketches @approximately20eggs @mohluskiepedard @desastreus @kk7-rbs @cee-grice @northwyrm @xylophonicsynapse @careful-pyromancer @recapitulation @incandescent-creativity @whole-buncha-snakess @mysticalalleycat @thatonecrowguy @va-nila-bean @televisionjester @excessive-vampires @walkman-cat @davycoquette @xenascribbles

tw for paranoia, anxiety, hallucinations, swearing, general feelings of unease

Nat Finch blinked awake.

He was slumped forward in the driver’s seat of his rental car, his forehead pressed to the steering wheel, his body aching like he hadn’t moved in centuries. His feet were bare. His throat burned. His head throbbed. Curled over his shoulders was the familiar softness of the blanket from his back seat, the one he’d been meaning to give to the Larsons for two weeks now. A deep night breeze leaked through the slightly-open window to his right, the cold gnawing at the dampness that clung to his clothes, to his face and hair. He felt filthy, filmy, disgusting—more so than usual.

A muddle of memories and flickers and voices fought for space in his brain, bumping up against each other and overlapping, threads escaping every time he thought he’d grasped one. He was overcome, for a single surreal moment, by the sense he had just awoken from an exceedingly peculiar dream.

Nat Finch sat up, groaning.

Disturbed by the motion, plastic crinkled in his lap. A collection of granola bars was scattered over him, a few of them having tumbled down onto the seat next to him and the floor below. Like someone had dumped them unceremoniously over his head and just… left him like that.

He recognised the brand, vaguely—something hoity-toity and ridiculous he’d seen at the supermarket, fifteen dollars a goddamn box—but they weren’t something that had any business being anywhere near him. His bank balance barely scraped double digits at the moment.

“Who the fuck…” Nat paused, not sure what question he was even supposed to be asking. “Why the fuck…”

His attention edged upwards, to a scrap of cardboard folded neatly in two and perched atop his dashboard.

DO YOUR BEST! it read in a childlike handwritten scrawl.

Nat squinted harder. “What the fuck.”

He tried to think. His brain, sluggish and laden with fog and aching, refused to provide any context for the mystery shower of nutrition. Or the note.

Or… anything else, for that matter. He didn’t remember falling asleep; he didn’t remember stopping his car. He remembered leaving work, but it had barely been dusk when he’d left work and the trip from Stop ‘N’ Go to his apartment was fifteen minutes, tops.

It was not dusk anymore. The black outside was the pure solitude of the witching hour and the world beyond his window was silent, save for the buzz and pop of a single faulty streetlight a few metres ahead and the chittering gossip of crickets. No people. No cars. No movement.

Nat’s dread climbed. He craned his neck and strained to decipher his whereabouts. The lonely light offered only flimsy, spluttering illumination—some of it splashing into his car, some of it into dry grass and mesh fence lining the side of the road, most of it merely into the rumble of gravel directly beneath it. He had no idea where he was. He had no idea why he was where he was.

The disco ball hanging from his rear-view mirror glittered at him, blinking urgently.

He shoved the granola bars off himself, suddenly feeling contaminated. A strident, pulsating pain forked through every inch of his body at the movement—he gritted his teeth, letting out a hiss and a wince. The blanket went next, ripped from his shoulders and hurled at the opposing window in a multicoloured flurry. It crumpled to the passenger seat and Nat stared at it, prickling all over with the suspicion someone else had placed it on him. Someone else had been here. Watching. Leaning. Looming. Touching. His hand flew to the window winder and wound it, sealing the opening. Sealing himself in and the outside out.

And then he sat still, mind reeling, chest tight. Panic twisting in his stomach. He waited for his brain to kick over, for his memory to rush back, for the moment he shook free the dregs of post-sleep disorientation and went, Oh, that’s right! That’s why I’m here! That’s what’s going on! How could I have forgotten?

A minute passed.

And another.

Frozen.

Rigid.

Nat swallowed, hard. Nothing clicked into place. Nothing clicked and nothing clicked and nothing clicked. Why not? He’d left work and turned left down Rake Street like he always did. He’d done nothing out of the ordinary.

The night outside was alive. With every flicker-out of the streetlight, the dark whined at his window, still trying to reach him. A tapping, a whistling, a whispering in its own made-up language. Nat. Nat. Nat. Something’s wrong. Nathaniel. Something’s wrong. The dark that should not have been there. The dark that should have been dusk.

He'd lost hours. Hours. What the hell had happened to him? The note on his dashboard sat there, smirking. It knew things he didn’t.

Nat fought to breathe in.

Nat fought to breathe out.

Nat breathed in.

Nat breathed out.

Five things he could see were that gaudy leopard-print steering wheel cover, the smeared windscreen from too-old wipers, the radio, the hazard switch, his own hands, crusted in cracked, dried mud.

Four things he could feel were the press of the seat under him, the press of his work uniform over him, the sting of the cold on his feet, pain, pain, pain.

Three things he could hear were crickets and streetlights and dark.

Two things he could smell were the dull citrus hum of the vent-clip air freshener and the fact it was doing nothing to hide the fact he hadn’t showered in a while.

One thing he could taste was—

Okay, okay, alright. Okay. That would do it. Nat breathed in. Nat breathed out. Calm. Calm. Calm.

He reached gingerly for the ignition, exhaling in relief when he grasped the key still inside. He had that, at least. He hesitated, perched on an agonising threshold between hopeful anticipation and whatever reality was about to find him.

He turned the key.

Nothing.

He turned again.

Nothing. The car stuttered and clicked uselessly, refusing to start. Relief left him as quickly as it had arrived. Flat battery.

Nat breathed, “Ah, fuck.”

Nat breathed in.

Nat breathed out.

He twisted towards the back seat, feeling along the faux leather for his work backpack. He hauled it to himself and rammed an arm inside to seek his phone, shoving through a jumble of familiar shapes—notebook, hoodie, empty soft drink can for recycling, empty soft drink can for recycling, gum, nametag—ah, there it was.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Nat whined, his finger colliding with the power button. “Please, please, please—”

Nothing. Flat battery.

Nat breathed in.

Nat plonked his forehead back down on the steering wheel and released a long, agonised wail.

Simmering anxiety climbed into roiling terror. Terror branched sideways into paranoia. Paranoia bloomed up through his chest and into his throat, where it squeezed tight and threatened to choke him. He’d lost hours. Anything could have happened to him. Anything could have been done to him.

The dark outside mocked and laughed. The disco ball blinked its rhythmic little warnings. He could feel it all, even when he wasn’t looking.

Nathaniel. Something’s wrong. Nathaniel.

“No shit,” he muttered back.

What next?

He lifted his head and flipped the sun visor down to look at himself in the mirror. With no phone screen and no overhead light to guide him, it was hard to get a full picture. He tilted his head, twisted his neck, attempted to catch himself on some jittering streetlight. He snagged a few glimpses—a dribble of blood from a presumably cracked lip here, a smudge of dirt on a cheekbone there. The collar of his shirt looked bloody, too. His hair wasn’t sitting right, tangled black all caked together and hanging in thick clumps. Two trembling hands lifted, the quiver partially from weakness and partially from fear, and Nat gripped at his face. Tugging along those familiar edges and curves and juts, finding them not so familiar. Finding them wrong. Hollow. Caved in. His fingertips wandered down towards his jaw—

—and along the thick, uneven mumbling of stubble that hadn’t been there when he’d left the apartment that morning.

Nat’s heartbeat tripped up. He hadn’t lost hours.

He’d lost days.

Nat breathed in. And in. And in. Not enough. Too fast. His chest heaved. His lungs refused to fill.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no. He couldn’t have lost days. He couldn’t have lost days. Jesus Christ, Nat had never been the shining poster child of mental health, but he’d never lost days. He’d been God knew where for God knew how long. He’d been—his feet were bare, his hands and face were streaked with mud, someone had clearly been messing around in his car—he’d been taken. Drugged. Kidnapped. That scribbled note? Do your best? He was being toyed with, probably by some deranged serial killer. And what was with the granola bars? Some kind of clue? A message?

He had to go. Run. Get help. Something close to a whimper climbed up his throat and fell from his lips. His hand crept to the door handle and stopped.

He’d seen horror movies. Not many, but enough. The chase, the hunt, the twisted mind games before the inevitable kill… these were part of the fun. There was probably someone watching him right now, folded into the shadows and out of sight, waiting for him to panic. Waiting for him to make his first mistake and step outside.

Waiting for him to start the game.

He couldn’t leave.

He couldn’t stay.

Could he stay? Could he just wait it out? Someone would find him. Someone would look for him. Someone would look for him, right?

No, no one would look for him. No one would care enough that he was gone.

No, there was no way they’d let him wait this out, whoever they were. They would find some way to lure him out, drive him out, force him into the waiting hands of the night air. Unprotected. Alone. All at once Nat felt a million eyes boring into him, leering from beyond the black, drinking in his every move. He shoved himself lower in his seat, clutching his dead phone to his chest.

Nat fought to breathe in.

Nat fought to breathe out.

He tried a final time to reason with himself.

When he’d worked twelve hour shifts four days straight, he’d started being dogged by the idea that someone had snuck a microscopic tracking device into his takeaway pizza, which he had subsequently consumed. When he’d been behind on rent for the third fortnight in a row, he’d become fixated on the idea that other customers in the supermarket were reading his thoughts and laughing at him. Look at this fucking loser. Grimy hair and track pants. Can’t even afford instant ramen.

Panic and stress tended to climb on top of him bit by bit. Panic and stress tended to twist all kinds of everyday events into all kinds of unnatural, terrifying shapes. It was normal. Even the tiny, audible hints of speech pushing through the dark, giving voice to his anxiety, those were normal under the right circumstances. It was all… no, not normal. It was a pattern. Tomorrow, he’d be fine. Tomorrow, he’d understand he’d never been in any danger.

So even though he was here now, helpless and stranded in the empty night, barefoot and filthy, abandoned by his memories and surrounded by leering scrawled words and fucking rich-people granola bars—he had to take this moment of clarity and hold it tight.

Tomorrow, this would all make sense.

DO YOUR BEST! the dark around him sang.

“Go to hell,” Nat spat.

And with that, he wrenched the door open.

[random-thot-generator]

Don’t Leave Me Hangin’

MANDO x FEM READER

Summary: Reader gets stuck aloft in one of the Kom’rik’s cargo nets and has to call out to Mando for help. Filthy Mando smut ensues.

Warnings: explicit language, swearing, explicit sexual content, porn without plot, well, maybe a tiny little hint of plot, oral- f receiving, PiV, squirting, cum play(?), it’s messy- nuff said, Kom’rik sex, improper use of a cargo net, reader is an idiot who should think things through, Mando is an opportunist, no use of Y/N, maybe? bondage - Mando doesn’t help her out of the net like- immediately, but reader ain’t complainin’

(N/A: The brain fog has FINALLY lifted, and I wanted to write about my most recent random filthy thot. This is the result. It’s a long-ish, smutty one shot. Reader & Mando are in a situationship - friends-with-benefits type deal. I’m picturing like a live-in nanny/housekeeper kind of thing, but I don’t think I ever specified. This is post-season 3, and Mando’s living his best life on Nevarro. He and reader are in a Kom’rik, because I need room for my smut to flourish, and I didn’t want to resurrect the poor old Razor Crest from the ashes. If I missed any tags, let me know. And I hope you enjoy.)

Word Count: 4280

You really should have thought this through better.

That was your first thought after the cargo net stopped swinging, and you regained a modicum of composure. You winced at the sound of the net’s straps creaking under the strain as you tried to shift your weight and then froze. You remained completely motionless, afraid to even breathe, for several more moments.

“Shit...” you whispered in a quaking voice, peering down at the floor of the cargo hold several meters below you. You then glanced up at the winch mechanism above your head, praying it held. How in the hell were you going to get yourself out of this?

It had seemed like such a good plan at the time. You had just stepped out of the Kom’rik’s small ‘fresher, having showered and changed into your sleep shirt before bed, when you’d felt the ship drop out of hyperspace with a small lurch. You heard something clatter in the cargo hold below and blew out a tired sigh, knowing it was probably nothing but also knowing you wouldn’t be able to rest until you checked it out.

Grumbling under your breath, you had climbed down into the hold. Only the emergency lights were on, the ceiling and corners hidden in shadow, but you spotted something lying near a tier of shelves attached to the hull’s interior wall. It was one of the kid’s favorite cookies, the teal ones with the creme filling. Peering up into the gloom, you spied an opened foil sleeve of cookies perched on the edge of the highest shelf.

“How the hell did he even get up there?” you said aloud, shaking your head. Jedi training aside, the kid was far too much like his dad, a little risk-taker. You heaved a sigh, with no small amount of exasperation. 

Stars only knew what else he had left up there. Come to think of it, you had given him your datapad earlier to watch cartoons and hadn’t seen it since. Sighing in frustration, you began looking for a way to reach the top shelf. The propulsor lift was still charging, so that was a no-go, and you didn’t see a ladder of any sort that wasn’t attached to the ship already.

And then you had spied the cargo net.

It was dangling by its hooks from a mechanized winch and pulley system attached to the ceiling. It was used to keep extra containers suspended above the floor to free up space, its track running the entire circuit of the area for maneuverability and convenience. Designed to hold several hundred kilograms, you were certain it could support your own weight. You could use it to lift yourself up to the shelf, retrieve whatever was up there and then lower yourself back to the ground. Easy peasy, jogan squeezy.

Detaching the control pad for the winch from the wall, you climbed inside the net, lacing an arm through the holes for a better grip, and then planted your bare feet on the cross sections of the heavy straps. It was a bit shaky at first, but once you gained your balance, you quickly ascended until you were at eye level with the top shelf. Tucking the control pad under your chin, you reached up to feel your datapad under your fingertips and sniffed in amusement. You’d have to give Grogu a good talking-to in the morning, but for now you at least had your datapad back. Slipping it and the sleeve of cookies off the shelf, you shuffled the objects around, your grip on the net slackening.

It was then that the Kom’rik made another jump into hyperspace, making the ship jolt with the transition. You shrieked when the net began to swing wildly, feet slipping out from under you as you let go of everything in your hands to hang on for dear life. Panting for breath, heart thundering in your chest, you clung like a monkey-lizard to the straps and prayed the net didn’t break.

So, there you were, hanging above the hold like a piece over-ripe fruit, arms and legs entangled in the net with no way down, because, of course, you had dropped the winch’s control pad when you dropped everything else. You could see it lying on the floor below you, right next to the broken casing of your datapad.

“Shit!” you repeated, leaning your forehead against the straps and huffing out an angry breath. Could this situation get any worse, you wondered. You’d have to yell for Mando to come get you down, which you weren’t looking forward to, but who knew how long it would take before he even came back this way? What if decided to just sleep in the cockpit? Would you end up hanging there all night?

The thought made your awkward position in the net feel even more uncomfortable. Your feet had slipped through the holes, so your legs were now dangling under you, the straps cutting into the tender meat of your thighs. One of your arms was still threaded through the net while the other one was pinned close to your side. You could feel the cold air of the hold settling into your bones and making you shiver, the thin material of the tunic doing little to stave off the chill.

You knew that the longer you hung there, the colder you were going to get, the number your limbs were going to grow. Your feet were already stinging and your teeth chattering. There was no help for it. You had to call for Mando.

“MANDO!!!”

Your voice bounced back at you, making your flinch. Holding your breath, you waited to hear his boots thudding against the metal floor overhead, but nothing. He hadn’t heard you.

“MAANN-DDOO! HEEELP!”

You waited. Still nothing.

Oh, stars, maybe he had fallen asleep in the cockpit. after all. With the door sealed, he would never hear you. Panic began to creep in, shortening your breath as it constricted your lungs.

“MANDO! PLEASE! I’M STUCK IN THE HOLD! MAN-DOO!!!”

“What the hell are you doing?”

You heard his voice coming through the ship’s comm system and could have cried in relief. You’d forgotten the cams located throughout the ship. Stars, he’d probably been watching you this whole time. You were never in danger.

“I... I’m stuck, Mando.”

A gravelly bark echoed in the hold before turning to static. Great. He was laughing at you. “Obviously. Listen, I need to recheck the coordinates in navi and set the autopilot, then I’ll come get you down. Just, uh, hang tight,” he drawled, another garbled sound slipping out of his vocoder.

You bit your tongue to keep from saying something you might regret. You were in no position to taunt or snark back at him right now. “Fine,” you mumbled, and slumped into the net.

It was only a few minutes before the sound of his heavy boots were thudding across the metal floor above you, his footsteps music to your ears. You heard the clang of his armor hitting against the ladder before he slid down into view, feet landing with a solid thump in the hold. He approached at a leisurely pace, seemingly in no hurry, then stopped to stare up at you. His helmet tilted back, black visor glinting in the low light. Planting his hands on his hips, he tipped his head, first to one side and then to the other.

“M-Mando? What’re you doing? Can you get me down now, please?”

Mando hummed, his stance shifting. His arms dropped down to his sides, hands curling into fists. “You must be getting pretty cold, huh?”

You bunched your brows up in consternation. “Um... yeah? It’s fr-freezing down here.”

He nodded slowly, keeping his visor trained on you. “Hmm. Thought so. You’re not wearing anything but my old tunic. It’s not covering much. Is it?”

You quirked a brow at the change in his voice. His smooth baritone had dropped an octave or three, and it had a distinctive husk to it now. His tone was the one he used when the two of you were alone with the lights off and he was taking you apart, dark and sinfully seductive. It made you squirm despite your precarious position, and the net began to slowly sway back and forth. The edge of a strap slid into the crease where your thigh met your hip, and you felt your lower lips part. A low groan issued from his vocoder. Your mouth fell open.

Sweet Maker, your pussy was on full display for him. You hadn’t bothered with underwear after your shower, planning on putting on a clean pair once you got back to your sleeping quarters. Heat surged through your body, both from embarrassment and unexpected arousal.

“Mando...” Your voice sounded so small and breathy in the cavernous space.

“I can see everything, pretty girl,” he told you, taking an unconscious step closer. He was almost directly under you now, peering straight up at your exposed sex. Mortified, you felt the slow trickle of your arousal easing out of your channel. You weren’t dripping, not yet, but the thought of him standing beneath you, staring at your most vulnerable parts had your breath panting out in little puffs. “You... Are you going to... get me down, now?”

You heard the back of his gauntlet scrape the metal floor as he picked up the control pad for the winch. His breath was rasping through his vocoder, the sound of leather creaking as he moved underneath you. You felt the winch catch and then begin to whir as the net began to lower back to the floor.

“Thank the stars,” you whispered, anxious to be back on solid ground again.

You didn’t quite make it, though. You were still a few meters above the floor when the winch came to a sudden stop, leaving you to sway like the pendulum of a run-down clock. “M-Mando?”

“Look so pretty like this, sweet girl,” he murmured below you, and you felt his gloved fingers trail across the back of your thigh. You gasped at the contact. “Close your eyes,” he husked out, voice gone to gravel.

You didn’t even bother to ask why, just snapped your eyes shut and held your breath, waiting. You heard the slap of leather on the floor, guessing it must be his gloves he’d just taken off, and then you felt his bare fingers tracing the straps that dug into your thighs. His fingertips grazed along the edge where the strap met the skin, the sensation making you tense as heat spiraled in your belly, diffusing through your pelvis to spread in a hot rush of slick that trickled out to cool along the petals of your open folds.

“Oh, mesh’la,” Mando cooed, dark and low. “You’re dripping for me, pretty girl.”

A whine escaped your lips, breath catching in your throat as you felt his fingers slide through your arousal, gathering your essence on his fingertips. There was the pneumatic hiss of air as his helmet disengaged and then the ring of beskar ricocheted around the hold as he dropped it to the floor. You could hear the lewd, wet noises he made as he suckled his own fingers, moaning at the taste of you.

“Don’t move, baby girl.”

“Oh, Maker...” you whimpered in a quaking whisper.

You could feel your walls clenching in anticipation. Mando had never used his mouth on you before, said he’d never gone down on anyone before, but as the winch whirred back into motion only to grind to a stop again a moment later, you guessed you were about to find out if this would be his first time.

When you felt his hair tickle the backs of your thighs, an eruptive shudder passed through your entire body. When his nose grazed over your clit, you jolted in the confines of the straps hard enough to send the net swaying, but he caught you and brought you back to center.

“Sh-shh... Easy, baby girl. I got you...” He paused, sniffed. “Fuck, you smell so good,” he hissed out in a rush, and you heard him inhale, could feel his nose right at your parted lips. It was so filthy, so obscene, what he was doing, but it made you quiver with lust, just the same.

His hands came up to grip your ankles, holding you in place. “That’s better,” he murmured, hot breath gusting over your damp folds, eliciting another shiver from you. “Let me hear you, pretty girl. Want to know how good I’m making you feel. Okay?”

You nodded your head furiously, swallowing in an attempt to bring a bit of moisture back into your parched mouth. “Y-Yeah. Okay, Mando.” You didn’t even care that it came out as a whine.

The first touch of his tongue had you choking on air, hips stuttering, not sure whether to rock forward or away from the lapping muscle, but his strong hands held you fast, not letting your squirm away. He dragged his tongue in a slow, hot line from your entrance to your clit, and you moaned like a porn star. You could feel his cheeks bunch up as he grinned at your reaction, and then he flicked his tongue over your pulsing clit again, pulling a sputtering,” Ha-aaa-aaah!” from your gaping mouth.

“You like it when I do that?” he purred lowly into your folds. “What about when I do this?” He enveloped the sensitive bud with his lips, tongue flickering over it with feather-light touches, making you writhe and grind against his mouth. He groaned, then suctioned his lips around it and sucked, pressing his tongue firmly against it. Your plaintive wail echoed throughout the ship.

“Fuck me...” he moaned, panting for breath, his voice shaking. He was completely wrecked. With a desperate snarl, he dove back in with a vengeance, tongue laving your inner folds, twirling around your entrance, lapping at your juices before kissing and sucking at your puffy, parted lips. He was devouring you whole, winding the coil in your core into a taut vibrating spring of tension. Your thighs were shaking uncontrollably, your breaths wheezing out of your lungs in desperate pants.

“Mando! Mando, I...” 

You couldn’t even voice a coherent thought, couldn’t tell him what was about to happen, but he seemed to understand, nevertheless. His fingers slid along your pulsing folds to catch at the rim of your entrance, circling it once before slipping inside. Your walls immediately clamped onto the digits, muscles undulating to pull them deeper. He growled at the feeling and latched onto your clit again crooking his fingers in a come-hither motion, the strokes sharp and quick as they tapped out a devastating tattoo against the spongy membrane of your G-spot.

The world went white behind your pinched eyelids, and you weren’t even aware of the choked scream that tore out of your throat as you were blindsided by your orgasm. The spring in your core gave way with a snap and warmth flooded from your center to gush out around his fingers and over his arm, splattering his lower face, cowl and chest plate.

“Ha!” he crowed. “That’s it! Fuck yes!”

You were barely hanging on, your very bones liquefied as you twitched and groaned with each consecutive pulse of your climax. If you had oozed out through the holes in the net to pool at his feet, you wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised.

“So fuckin’ good, for me. Look at that. Fuck, I need — nngh!”

You heard the motor of the winch whir back into life, then felt the cold sensation of the floor touch the bottom of your feet. You couldn’t have held up your own weight if your life depended on it, however, and so folded up with the netting as it came to rest on the floor. Strong hands lifted you out the mess of straps, hands moving over you, manipulating you as he whispered feverish words in Mando’a  like some fervent benediction.

You felt your back come to rest on top of the netting, the worn fabric of his cape spread out beneath you to serve as a barrier against the rough material. You had yet to open your eyes, jaw slack as you floated somewhere high above your physical body in a state of pure bliss.

Mando placed his calloused hand over your eyes, unwilling to test fate more than he already had. He felt crazed, rabid with lust, his only desire to be buried balls-deep in your cunt.

“Need to feel you, sweet girl,” he gasped at your ear, his breath stuttering against your neck. “Please, I need — “

“Yes! Stars, please, Mando. Want to feel you inside me. Do it...”

He whimpered as he lifted himself away long enough to scrabble at the closure of his pants, shoving them down with his underwear to the top of his thigh plates, a frustrating exercise to complete one-handed. When his cock sprang free of its confines, he moaned in relief, pumping it roughly a couple of times as he spread his leaking precrum over the head with his thumb. With a grunt, he fell between your thighs, notching himself at your entrance, inhaling a deep breath before he sank into your greedy, grasping cunt with an audible squelch.

“Fuuuckin’ hellll...” he moaned out as he slid inside your fluttering walls, grunting again when he felt them collapse around his cock and seize it in a vice grip. It was a struggle to draw himself back, the sensation making his balls draw up tight against his body. “Too good... too tight... Gonna make me cum...” he mumbled under his breath, fighting off his orgasm. When he had withdrawn a about halfway, he couldn’t stand it anymore and plunged back in, thrusting hard enough to shift the netting beneath you.

You sobbed, the feeling of being so full overwhelming, your shaking legs coming up to wrap around his hips, ankles locking over the flexing muscles of his ass. He was driving into you with abandon, the toes of his boots squeaking on the floor to find purchase, bracing his body against yours. His other arm he shoved under your back, fingers hooking over your shoulder to pull you down on his cock to meet each hard thrust. He was growling, muttering curses in multiple languages, hissing as you clenched and pulsed around him.

“Ah, fuck, sweet girl, I’m gonna — Shit! Fuck, baby, where do you want — “

“Inside... Want to feel you cum in me...” you moaned out, another orgasm rising like a massive wave in your core. “Ah, fuck!” you whined.

Your words snapped that last thread of control he had, and he surged forward, thrusting in wild, arhythmic strokes that sent you careening over the edge. Your climax washed over you like a euphoric wave, slow and liquid, a golden warmth that engulfed your lower half before spreading like molten honey.

Mando could feel your walls clamp down and spasm, milking his cock, drawing him in deeper. He threw his head back and came with a bellow, a primal, jagged roar of triumph. His chest lifted as his back arched, his cock exploding inside your walls, pumping ribbons of his thick seed deep into your hungry cunt.

He barely managed to throw an arm out to catch himself before falling forward. He was trembling above you. and when his elbow buckled, his head fell to your chest. His nose was smooshed into the side of your breast, his panting breaths teasing the sensitive bud of your nipple into a hard little nub beneath the thin material of his tunic. He gave a dazed grin at the sight, wishing he had the energy to take it in his mouth, but he wasn’t sure he could even lift his head yet.

“Stars, pretty girl. I think you’ve killed me.”

A breathless wheeze of laughter burst out of your chest, and you reached up to pull down the hand now splayed limp over your face to your lips. You left a lingering kiss in the palm as you crooked your other arm over your eyes, just so the temptation to peek wouldn’t get the best of you. You felt him lift his head with reluctance, his weight shifting, before his lips pressed to yours in a sweet, chaste kiss.

“You alright? I know I went pretty hard this time. I didn’t mean to lose it like that, but — “

Your hand came up to touch his face, landing on his neck instead. You slid it upward to cup his jaw, the feel of his patchy beard against your palm endearing. “Don’t you dare apologize,” you told him and drew him down for another kiss. “It was perfect. The best I’ve ever had,” you whispered against his lips.

He sighed, smiling against your mouth in relief and pleasure. When he shifted again, he saw you grimace. “Did I hurt you, sweet girl?” he rushed to ask, lifting his weight off you.

You giggled and shook your head. “No, it’s not that. There’s something cold and sticky all over your chest plate. It feels... icky.”

He glanced down to see your release from earlier smeared over his beskar, and he chuckled, low and dirty. “That’s your fault,” he teased. “You drowned me when you came the first time.”

Your mouth dropped open and, if not for his hand coming down to hold your arm in place, you would have jerked it away from your eyes to stare at him in shock. “I did not!” you gasped. mortified.

“Oh, you did, pretty girl,” he crooned. “I want to make you do it again.”

“What? N-Now?!”

A full-on laugh rumbled out of his chest this time. “No, sweet girl. As much as I’d love to, I don’t either one of us is going to be able to go another round after that last one.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” you blurted out, and then winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean —”

He sniffed in amusement and pecked you on the lips. “I know what you meant, mesh’la.” Sitting back on his knees, he rubbed at his face, grinning at the sticky feel of your spend drying in his mustache. He was positively covered in your cum, and he fucking loved it. His poor cock gave a valiant twitch before he tucked it back into his pants and stood. “C’mon, sweet girl. Let’s get in the shower.” He retrieved his helmet, slipping it back on before bending to take you by the hand.

You groaned. “Just lemme sleep here. Can’t move right now.”

“You’ll freeze down here,” he chided you. “Now come on. I’ll help you.”

You whined as he hauled you onto your feet, and you staggered on your shaking legs. He shook his head and turned his back to you, bending his knees slightly. “Hop on. I’ll carry you up the ladder. Otherwise, we will be down here all night.”

You made a face at him, but wrapped your arms around his neck anyway, making a weak hop to get onto his back. Grasping your thighs, he hitched you up a little higher and stood, then trudged towards the ladder at the opposite end of the hold.

“Oh, stars,” you moaned out behind him, dropping your forehead to his back. “Do you think we woke Grogu? We were, uh... ahem... We were, you know, a little loud,” you whispered.

“Well, the ship’s still flying, and I didn’t hear anything break while we were down here, so I’m going to say no.”

You giggled. “He’s gonna get it tomorrow morning,” you vowed. “He was the reason I got caught up in that stupid net in the first place. He somehow managed to get on that top shelf with a whole sleeve of cookies and my datapad.” You paused, moaned again. “Shit. My datapad. It broke when I dropped it.”

“Don’t worry, mesh’la. We’ll get you another one, and I’ll talk to Grogu myself tomorrow morning, right after breakfast. Okay?”

You sighed, a little grin tugging at your lips. “Okay.” You heaved a sigh, tightening your grip when Mando started to climb up the ladder. “I know one thing. I’m burning that stupid net when we get back to Nevarro.”

Mando huffed and shook his head. “Like hell you are. We’re bringing that home with us. It’s going up in the bedroom, right above the bed.”

You gasped in shock, rearing your head back. “Mando!”

His rumbling chuckle bounced off the metal walls of the ship, and a warmth like the sun bloomed in your chest as a smile as big as the Dune Sea spread across your face.

“Okay, fine. We’ll discuss the cargo net later. But right now, I want a shower.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mando purred, and you could hear the grin in his voice. Taking your hand, he led you into the ‘fresher.

Despite Mando’s earlier doubts, you found out that you both did indeed have another round left in you.

(End notes: Just wanted to mention @saradika because she created the dividers and banners I’m using. She makes them for free. You can check out her masterlist on her blog. Her fics are *chef’s kiss* too.) 

[miraclewoozi]

[ 05:55 ] - c.hs

pair: vernon x fem!reader.  w/c: 2k content: pwp/smut. (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT). married au. christmas drabble. warnings: swearing. bad jokes/festive innuendoes throughout. smut tags UTC.  notes: yes this is several days late. no i am not taking questions.  notes 2.0: at the time of writing i am stuck in a very grim post-xmas limbo (see: entirely too full of cheese and also regret), however i remain down horrendous for this loser so here we are. enjoy. <3

smut tags: spooning -> forking. fingering, nipple play, talk of spicy dreams incl. a blowjob. piv sex. breeding kink (see: hills i will die on). creampie! cockwarming. it’s all very domestic. barely proof read. please let me know if i have forgotten anything.

Soft lips against the shell of your ear accompany you on your return to the land of the living, several hours earlier than you’d ideally like to be awake and definitely long before the sun decides to make its own face known. Your room is dark and the air is bitterly cold, even wrapped up under your bedsheets, even tangled in the arms of your husband. 

But you don’t need to be able to feel your toes, nor see six feet in front of you to know exactly why you’ve been woken up this early. All you need to be able to do is hear, and there’s certainly nothing wrong with your ears at this ungodly hour. 

“Morning,” Hansol murmurs huskily when your hands place themselves over his, low on your stomach beneath your sleep shirt. “Happy Christmas, baby.”

“Happy Christmas,” you say back, smiling serenely, your brain still fogged with the last wisps of your retreating slumber. The tone of his voice alone is a dead giveaway to what he wants, but you decide to play with him a little first anyway and feign innocence. Lazy mornings like this where neither of you are in a rush to get straight out of bed are a little bit of a treat, so who are you to not indulge him? “Why are you awake?”

It’s no secret that your partner likes to sleep in whenever gets the chance, but with a toddler in the room down the hall and a demanding job that has him leaving home before sunrise, most days, that’s something of a rarity now. He answers you silently, pressing his hips into your backside and you feel him — all of him — thick and hard and warm against the flesh of your ass. Ah. Just as expected. A warm chuckle escapes you and you move to turn over in his arms, but his strong hold traps you in place and you just wiggle back against him instead.

He barely stifles a groan and, still laughing, you roll your eyes.

“S’that a candy cane in your pocket?” You ask, feeling him shuffle down a fraction and rut against the seam of your thighs over and over, quiet grunts betraying the pleasure he tries to conceal. Close enough to feel your core’s heat, yet separated enough from it to only feel more frustrated. “Or are you just happy to see me?”

Hansol laughs despite himself into the smooth skin of your neck, shaking his head. He slides one of his hands up from your stomach to your chest, his warm fingers finding and dragging around one of your nipples with practiced accuracy. 

“You can find out,” he says, feeling goosebumps raise on your skin as the bud hardens under his touch. “If you want.”

“Why don’t you tell me what got you all worked up, first?” You ask. 

Morning wood is one thing, but to make him initiate all this? It must’ve been something really special. He proves you right as he pinches at your nipple, his other hand dipping below the waistband of your pyjama pants, his blunt nails dragging down your belly. You bite your lips to prevent yourself whining. 

So sue you. It’s been a while. 

“Had a dream about you,” Hansol says, peppering kisses down the side of your neck. You arch your back, simultaneously pressing your ass against his clothed cock again and your chest harder against his hand. “You were all dressed up for me. In this pretty little red outfit — you know the… sexy Christmas ones? With the white fur along the skirt?”

You nod, dropping your hand down to where his fingers are stroking, mercilessly slowly, against the cotton of your panties. To where he’s giving you hardly anything. On purpose. You shunt his wrist down a little, feeling him smirk into your skin. Finally though, he starts to thumb over your clit and you gasp appreciatively at the relief. “Oh yeah? And what was I doing?”

“It’s just funny you mentioned candy canes,” he tells you, rubbing at you a little faster. “You were suckin’ on me like I was one.”

You groan a little at his description, feeling your cheeks heat up. Arguably, this shouldn’t be sexy at all, but his rough morning voice and the way his skillful hands are working you up to a soaked, wriggling mess already has you flustered. You’re convinced nobody else in the world could turn a line that corny into auditory foreplay.

Leave it to you to marry the world’s biggest dork.

“All the way back into your throat,” he goes on, finally now slipping past the barrier of your underwear. He dips between your folds, dragging through your arousal before he moves his sickened finger back to your clit. “Dressed so naughty, but I’d have put you on the nice list for sure.”

“Enough with the damn—,” you snort, but your amusement dies and you clench your jaw as he starts to play with your other tit instead. You have to be quiet; you can’t afford for this to end before either of you manage to get off. Not now. But it’s so difficult when he knows your body better than he does his own. “You know she’ll be awake any-… oh.”

“Then get these off,” he whispers. He opens his palm fully then, pushing your thighs apart and pressing just the tips of two of his fingers against your hole. All the while, he fights to try and push your pyjama pants down with his other hand. 

He fails, naturally, but you come to his rescue and slide them down over your hips for him. He joins you again in an effort to kick everything all the way off though, sliding one leg between yours and stamping a little impatiently at your sleepwear with his foot until they’re bunched up at the end of your bed. His boxer shorts, meanwhile, don’t even make it to his knees; as soon as he can pull himself free of their confines, he does, stroking along his length as you open your thighs for him. 

He presses his lips against the curve of your shoulder while he settles into position behind you. Then, it’s just moments before you feel his head dragging through your slick in place of his fingers. 

“Okay?” he asks, lining up with your entrance and pushing forward just enough that you feel the familiar stretch of his intrusion.

“Please,” you nod, grabbing the sheets in an attempt to anchor yourself, to hush the moans he always draws out of you. Hansol slides into your cunt slowly, pressing until his cock is buried all the way inside you, until his hips rest completely against your ass. Your whole body shivers at the feeling. 

He barely moves for a little while, letting himself get used to the sensation of your walls hugging him for the first time in… weeks? Months, even? Too long, is the only real answer. His hand lays over your hip as you relax it and your thighs come back together, making you squeeze a little tighter around him. He fills you up so perfectly, too. So much that you feel warmth creeping to each of your extremities already. So much you can’t keep your mouth closed no matter how hard you try. 

“Missed you,” you sigh, laying your hand on top of his, threading your fingers through the spaces between his own. He brushes his thumb over the side of your hand soothingly. “Missed this.”

“Me too,” he agrees, slowly starting to turn those cute accidental jerks of his hips into real thrusts. But he doesn’t move quickly. Not at all: quite the opposite, even; he fucks into you slow and deep, making sure you feel every inch of him on every single stroke. 

It continues on much the same, but you’re not sure how long for: kissing your shoulders, your neck, the back of your hand when he lifts it up to his lips, breathing hot and heavy on your slowly warming skin. He murmurs sweet little praises. Rolls into you, dragging the tip of his cock against the sweet spot inside once he finds the angle that makes you hiccup your next breaths. He loves you, he makes love to you: quietly and intimately, and you’re so lost in this rarely seen, sweet, needy side to your husband that you barely realise you’re inching closer to your high until he’s the one to tell you you are. 

“Close?” he asks, with a new rough edge to his voice that has nothing to do with the sleep his fantasies woke you both from. It’s not a question, despite the little lift he says the word with. He knows what it feels like. He knows you. 

“Mhm,” you nod, swallowing back another whine as his hand dips between your legs again. “F-… yeah. Just like that—”

“I know, sweetheart,” he hums. “God, m’so lucky to have you. Feels so good.”

Your brain floods with static and it’s a miracle you even hear what he says next. He’s a man of few words (though one of many grunts) in the bedroom, but when Hansol starts getting overwhelmed in his pleasure, he babbles more than anyone you’ve ever met. You do hear him, though. Loud and clear. 

“Gonna put another one in you,” he says, hushed but still undoubtedly desperate. “Wanna give you another baby— oh, you’re gonna look so pretty. Can I? Please—?”

And if his fingertips rubbing tight circles against your puffy clit, or his cock spearing into you with unsteady, shaky movements, or his throaty moans of your name hushed by the skin of your back weren’t enough to get you there? This is. You squeeze your eyes shut and cry around your fist as it hits, as ecstasy pulses through you in waves that never seem to end. 

“Yes,” you gasp in the midst of it all, as he keeps asking — no, keeps begging. “Please, ‘Sol—”

“Fuck,” he groans, then, letting his own high wash over him and he starts to spill ribbons of white into your hot pussy. “You feel so fucking-… ah—”

He squeaks the words out. Right into your ear, fanning hot breaths down your now slightly sweaty neck. Even when he’s spent and stops rocking into your hips, he keeps rambling. “Thank you, shit, thank you—”

You don’t hear him swear much anymore. Not since you had your first baby; the suddenness of it makes you giggle, and the resulting clamp of your walls around his twitching length makes him hiss as he comes down. But he doesn’t pull out of you, even when he starts to soften. You realise after a few seconds what he’s doing, though.  He’s keeping you plugged full of his cum; he’s not going to let any of it go to waste. (You both know it’s starting to dribble out of you down the sides of his length anyway, mixed with your own wetness. Neither of you are too worried about that right now.)

He meant it, then. All of it. Your stomach twists in delight as he taps your waist and you look back at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Make me a promise?” he asks, sweaty forehead pressed into your shoulder, still trying to catch his breath. 

“Anything.”

“Let’s never leave it that long again,” Hansol whines. You can’t help but flutter around him again, this time at the mere thought of him being so desperate to fuck you more often. He lets out a slightly pained laugh, overstimulated.

“I promise,” you agree, feeling all of a sudden like your bones are made of lead. You could fall back asleep like this, quite happily. 

But, you realise with a sigh, someone didn’t take care of the milk and cookies on the kitchen counter before they crawled into bed last night. That’s about to become your problem.

“Good,” he nods. “We’re gonna do this every day ‘til you have another one, okay? Twice. And extra on weekends.”

“Mhm, sure we are.” You laugh, finally now feeling him pull out of you with a kiss to your temple. (Twice a day is his upper limit, and both of you know that. But it doesn’t hurt to play along.) “In that case, I’ll save your special gift for later.”

tysm for reading!!! likes, reblogs, comments & feedback are, as always, super appreciated.<3